Ronald Weasley and the Very Friendly Horcrux
by The QAS
Summary: After a fight with his friends, an indignant Ron Weasley abandons his search for horcruxes and storms off into the forest whereupon he comes into contact with a very strange muggle boy in a suit of armor . . . "Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain."
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, Everybody! This story idea has been in my head for a while, so I'm finally glad to start posting chapters. Unlike my other FMA fic, this one is set in the Brotherhood universe, though the idea that the Gate can lead to separate worlds still applies.**

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Devon, Southwest England: October 13, 1997

"Some friends I have!" Ron Weasley grumbled as he made his way through the densely-vegetated forest.

The rain was coming down hard. It caused his bangs to cling to his forehead, blocking his vision. Ron had given up pushing them out of the way at this point, knowing that within a few seconds he'd have to do the same thing over again.

"So, Ronald," the teenager muttered, "What are you going to do now? Can't exactly apparate in this condition and the closest settlements are miles away. Damn it, why didn't you think this out further?"

It took a few more minutes of talking to himself before he reached his reluctant conclusion: he was spending the night in the rainy woods. With some wandwork at least he was able to create a makeshift shelter that actually didn't collapse on the third try. Sighing and gripping his aching arm, Ron took refuge underneath his little canopy.

What _was _he going to do now? There was no way he could return to his friends after his outburst, even if he was sorry—which he wasn't, because he had simply stated what he and Hermione had been thinking to themselves the entire time. Ron didn't regret his actions, not in the least. Was it his fault that he was a bit disappointed by their complete and total lack of progress? That the only thing they had even remotely resembling a plan was to collect horcruxes? That they were just chasing one dead end after another? It was useless. Why couldn't the others see that?

Ron glanced up at his rather pitiful canopy. He would need a more permanent place of residence. He supposed he could seek refuge at Bill and Fleur's house in Tinworth. Ron wasn't really in the mood to go back to the Burrow and face his family. He'd think more about it in the morning.

Ron paused his mental rant when he heard a rustling in the bushes behind him.

"Lumos," he whispered, pointing his wand at the brush. "Who's there? Harry? Hermione? You better not have followed me. I said I wanted to be alone!" There was no response. Ron's heart rate began to accelerate. "Who are you?" he shouted again in his most threatening voice. "I-I'm warning you! Stay away!" To the readhead's surprise, the rustling ceased and the woods were silent once again.

The night was long and, much to Ron's annoyance, the rain stubbornly refused to light up. He didn't so much sleep as he did slip in and out of consciousness periodically. Still, he refused to turn back. He had a made a decision and he was going to stick with it. And no, the irony of that statement was not lost on him.

The bushes would rustle periodically from what Ron assumed was some animal scurrying around. Damn, he was starting to get really hungry. Maybe he could hunt down whatever was rustling was and make some dinner. No…no that wouldn't work. His wand work wasn't precise enough to catch anything so small and quick, and there was no way he could hunt with just one hand. Besides, he couldn't really see himself cooking up some wild hare's body to eat, no matter how starving he was.

Sighing, he reached into his bag. There were a few stale cauldron cakes at the bottom, which Ron supposed was better than nothing. Trying not to grimace, he bit into the hard pastry and chewed. Ugh. The thing tasted older than his Aunt Muriel. Who knew how long it had been lying there? Ron gagged and coughed.

A little gasp came from the bushes. "Are you okay?" It was the voice of a small child.

With his sympathetic nervous system on full alert, Ron shakily got to his to his feet and drew his wand. "Who said that? Where are you hiding?"

"Over here. You can put the stick down, I'll come out." _Stick? _Ron raised an eyebrow, but lowered his wand. "Please don't be scared."

Why would he be—WHAT THE HELL?! A giant suit of armor stepped out from behind a tree. It had been so dark that Ron had assumed the figure was just part of the trunk. The thing was enormous! Not quite Hagrid's height, but still a good seven feet at least.

Ron was unable to hide the high-pitched shriek that escaped from his mouth.

The armored man giggled. "Sorry about that. I didn't mean to startle you. I just saw you coughing and thought…"

"How long have you been watching me?"

"A while," the man (boy?) sounded embarrassed. "How did you make the fort? I've never seen alchemy like that before." _Alchemy?_ The word sounded vaguely familiar to Ron, like something he should have been paying attention to in a lesson. "Anyway, I'm Alphonse Elric. What's your name?"

Ron supposed it was possible that the armored boy was employed by You-Know-Who. Merlin, how young were the Death Eaters recruiting kids these days? The boy didn't sound older than twelve, though his height certainly implied otherwise. And where was _his_ wand? Ron looked over the figure to make sure that he hadn't missed it before but it seemed that the armor held no weapons on his body at all. What kind of idiot would forget his…? Then it made sense: the boy was a muggle. That would explain why he didn't recognize what Ron was doing before.

"What's your name?" Alphonse repeated.

In a rare moment of caution, Ron decided not to use his real name. Even if the boy wasn't with You-Know-Who, he would be in real danger if the Death Eaters knew he'd been hanging out with a Ron Weasley. "My name is Jack…Jackson." Damn his lack of creativity!

Alphonse seemed unperturbed. "Oh. Nice to meet you, Jack!" the enthusiasm in the child's voice was almost contagious, though it died down significantly with the next sentence. "Um…could you by any chance tell me where we are?"

What an odd question. "We're in Devon. Near Cornwall, I think."

"And where is that in relation to Central?" Ron thought he detected a hint of nervousness in Alphonse's voice.

"Central what?" Ron asked dumbly. "We're in the Southwest of the country."

"…So we're near Creta and Aerugo?"

Ron shook his head. It was like the boy was speaking a different language entirely. Was he using muggle terms that he was unfamiliar with? The redhead shrugged. "Sorry, mate. I've never heard of either of those places before."

"Oh." The armor seemed to slouch in disappointment. "That's so strange. The last thing I remember, I was…oh no. Briggs! The snowstorm! I have to warn the others!"

"Riiight." Ron was beyond lost at this point. "Um, Alphonse, how old are you exactly?"

"Fourteen. Why?"

"Damn, you're tall. Never mind. You said fourteen? Where are your parents, then?"

There was a long pause before Alphonse answered. "My mom is dead. My dad left us when I was little."

Oops. "I'm sorry," he said, sounding genuinely apologetic. Alphonse nodded in acknowledgment and Ron awkwardly continued because he was sure this kid must have some sort of guardian to return to. "Who do you live with, then?"

"My brother, Ed. He's a year older than me."

Was this standard practice for muggles? To leave children in charge of other children if their parents were killed? That sounded like a terrible idea. Ron couldn't imagine ever becoming Ginny's guardian. Actually, he _could _imagine it in several different scenarios. All of them ended in explosions.

"'Ey you!" someone called out in a strong cockney accent. A figure with long, straggly hair stepped out of the bushes. His robes were probably once glamorous, but now they looked so worn that Ron doubted that even his mum's best hand-me-down laundry charms would have much of an effect on them. "Yeah, you, with the red 'air. Drop yer wand. Same goes for you, Mr. Armor."

Alphonse let out a little squeak of surprise. "But…but I don't have a…"

"Not cooperatin', eh? Well, boys, I fink we're gonna 'avta teach these blokes a lesson." Two more men stepped out from the bushes.

"Who are they?" Alphonse whispered.

"Snatchers."

Ron was beginning to panic once again. He was confident that even with his arm in a sling, he could fight off one snatcher. But three? There was no way in hell he could take them all down.

Ron turned to Alphonse. The poor kid didn't even have a wand to defend himself and he imagined that it couldn't be very easy to make quick movements while stuck in that suit. Ron was basically screwed, but Alphonse had no chance. Besides, if the snatchers got him, there was a possibility—however slim—that he could talk his way into freedom. Alphonse, on the other hand…Ron didn't even want to think about what they would do to the kid. He made a split second decision right there and then.

"Run away," Ron hissed. "I'll deal with them."

"But—"

"Just go." Ron charged the snatchers.

Jets of light flew out in all directions. Ron was still a good three yards away from them when a stupefy spell knocked him off his feet. This was followed by a sharp expelliarmus that left him wandless. The snatchers surrounded him. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Since Ron was now unarmed, they no longer saw him as an immediate threat and were able to take their sweet time closing in. Their leader reached him first and decided to amuse himself by twisting Ron's injured arm out of its sling. The others soon joined in and took turns twisting it until a distinct popping sound was heard. Ron screamed.

The next few seconds were a blur. And then suddenly, the three fiends were running away in terror while Alphonse helped Ron to his feet. Why had he come back? And more importantly, did that kid just scare off three snatchers without so much as a wand? Ron wasn't sure if he was more impressed or humiliated by the boy's actions.

"Is this yours?" Alphonse handed Ron the stick of cherry wood. He accepted without comment, still feeling pretty shaken up. That had been close. _Too_ close. With his arm in its stupid sling, Ron was basically helpless. Maybe he shouldn't have left the others so quickly…

Alphonse, meanwhile, was hovering over him like an overprotective parent. "How's your arm?" the boy asked.

Ron grunted, unable to conjure the energy to speak.

Picking up on this, Alphonse led him over to a tree to lean against. A few seconds later, Ron was nearly unconscious.

He was pulled out of his stupor when Alphonse spoke. "Um…Mr. Jackson?"

Who? Oh yeah. That was him. "Mmm?"

"I don't want to bother you or anything, but…" Alphonse shifted the weight on his feet. "When you're feeling up to it, would you mind taking me to the nearest phone line? Or even just the edge of town. I can probably find a phone line on my own."

"Phone? You mean, like, a telephone?"

Ron got the feeling that Alphonse was giving in him a _well, duh_ look under his helmet.

"I guess," he agreed. "Once I'm rested up and stuff. But the closest town's at least four miles away. Will you be able to drag that armor with you the whole way?"

"Don't worry about me. I'll be fine." Ron thought he detected a hint of bitterness in the boy's voice. Oh well, not his problem. When morning came, he'd be able to return Alphonse to wherever he came from and then he'd be his brother's (what was his name? Ned?) responsibility.

Now he just had to make it through the night without screwing things up.

"Hey, Jack," Alphonse asked. "What was it you and those people were doing before? You know, with the sticks they called wands."

Damn it.

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**A bit of a slow beginning, but I promise it gets better. **

**Reviews are always welcome. I would love to know what people think of this.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hurray, another chapter! This one contains a lot of dialogue, but I promise that more action will come soon. Thank you to everybody who reviewed, favorited, followed, and even just read. I'm glad that I've been getting such positive feedback for this. Individual reviewers will be addressed in the author's note at the bottom. Oh, and in case it wasn't obvious, I don't own _Harry Potter_ or_ Fullmetal Alchemist. _**

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_Okay. Think, Ron. Think. _Obliviation was an option, but what if the snatchers came back? Who knew how many times he would have to explain the situation to the kid before erasing it from his memory? Ron figured it would make more sense to tell Alphonse the truth for the time being and cast obliviate once they reached the closest settlement. Memory charms were advanced magic and from what he understood, there was a limit to how many times they could be performed on a muggle without any ill effects.

"Okay," Ron took a deep breath. "This is going to sound barking mad, but what you saw back there was magic."

"Magic?"

"Yeah."

To the readhead's surprise, Alphonse began to laugh. Ron thought he heard an odd echoing sound come from the armored boy's chest, but he shrugged it off. "Okay," Alphonse said once the laughter had been reduced to a couple of stray giggles. "What was it,_ really_?"

"I told you," Ron said, a bit irritated, "it's magic. Witches. Wizards. Spells. Potions. They're all real. How else can you explain what you saw?"

Alphonse stopped laughing. "Just because I can't explain it doesn't mean it's supernatural."

Ron kicked the dirt. He was growing tired of this conversation already. "And why the bloody hell not?"

Alphonse spoke slowly, but not in a condescending way. "I'm a scientist. I practice alchemy. My job is to learn how the world works. After all, understanding composition is the first step to a successful transmutation. If I just passed off everything I didn't understand as magic, I wouldn't be doing my job very well."

Despite his father's rather obsessive fixation over it, Ron didn't know much about muggle science and he was finding Alphonse's lecture hard to follow. "Transmutation, what's that? Something you use with electricity?" Electricity seemed like a good guess. From what he could tell, muggles used it for practically everything.

Now it was Alphonse's turn to be confused. "Umm…no. We don't use electricity in alchemy. We harvest energy from the Earth's core. Here, watch." The armored boy picked up a small twig from the ground and began drawing a circle in the dirt with a bunch of strange lines and shapes inside of the outline. "See? The transmutation circle acts as a matrix so I can summon the energy."

"I understand," said Ron, not understanding at all.

"Just look." Alphonse touched the circle with his hands. Nothing happened.

Ron peered around in confusion. "Did I miss something?"

"I…I don't get it. How…?" Alphonse tried to draw another circle. Again, nothing happened.

Ron clapped sarcastically. "Great job, Alphonse!" he exclaimed. "I will never doubt your integrity again."

"This can't be happening…" Alphonse got started on a third circle, then a forth and Ron caught a slight tremor in the boy's hand. The unresponsiveness of the line drawings was clearly causing Alphonse some serious distress.

"Uh…calm down there, mate." Ron didn't want to see the kind of destruction the armor could cause when he was agitated.

The armored boy didn't seem to be listening anymore. "Maybe it's like before when Brother and I couldn't transmute," Alphonse mused. "Oh, we should have learned alkahestry when we had the chance. If anything happens to them, it'll be all my fault…"

Alphonse was starting to lose it. That much was obvious. Taking a deep breath, Ron pulled out his wand and expelled the stick from Alphonse's hand. The armored boy shifted his gaze upward and fixed his glowing red eyes on him. A chill went down Ron's spine and he awkwardly held up his hands as a sign of peace.

"Why did you do that?" Alphonse whined. "I need to figure something out before it's too late!"

"I don't want any trouble," said Ron slowly. "It just looked like whatever you were doing wasn't very productive. And quite frankly…I think I'll go mental if I see you make another one of those bloody things."

To his surprise, the boy didn't get angry. Instead, he let out a sigh. "I guess you're right, Mr. Jackson. If it isn't working now, there's no reason to think that doing the same thing again will produce a different result. I'm a scientist, I should know that better than anybody."

"Why do you need to get that circle working so badly anyway?"

Alphonse twiddled his thumbs nervously. "It's hard to explain, but I need to get back where I was as quickly as possible. My…my friends are in danger. If there's a town near by, I think we should starting heading towards it."

Ron nodded. This sounded like a plan to him. The sooner he got this kid to a town, the sooner he could get rid of him. "Fine by me. Let's go." He started walking. "There's a road not far from here. Let's try to stay on the side of that. If we follow it long enough, we're bound to find a town or something at some point." He pulled his wand out and cleared a path by blasting away low tree branches.

"Uh…right!" Alphonse scrambled after him, causing the metal suit to clank loudly.

"Why do you wear that thing, anyway?"

"What? Oh, this thing?" Alphonse's voice seemed even higher than usual. "Oh, it's…it's a…uh, a hobby! Hahaha!"

The boy was covering something up. Ron had certainly performed the action enough times in his life to recognize it when he saw it. In all honesty, though, he had just been trying to make conversation; it wasn't like he was _that_ interested, after all. But now that he knew Alphonse was hiding something, the Gryffindor couldn't help but feel his curiosity spike. He'd definitely have to ask him more about it later.

Though it wasn't like Alphonse couldn't find other topics to rant about. Ron soon discovered the kid was quite capable of doing the talking for two.

"Hey, do you hear that? I think a bird is singing. I love listening to bird songs. Back in Resembool—that's where I grew up. It's a rural town southeast of Central—my brother and I would sometimes go for walks and try to tell the birds apart by their songs. Where did you say this place was again? Devon, right? It must be far if you've never heard of Central! Are we in Drachma? No. That's not possible. I was near Drachma before and there was an enormous blizzard—AHH!" _HONK! _Alphonse jumped out of the way of a speeding car. He spun around, disoriented.

"What the bloody hell were you thinking, go that far into the road? Do you have a death wish because that fancy suit of yours won't do much good against one of those things!"

"What…what _was_ that?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "That was a _car_. Ever heard of one?"

"Of course I've heard of them," Alphonse replied, sounding a little offended. "It's just…I've never seen one go so fast. And…and the ones we have back at home are usually black. This one looked completely different. Is it, like, a new model or something?"

Ron shrugged. "Dunno. Dad's the one into all the muggle stuff, not me. Let's go."

"What's a muggle?"

"Uh…it's what you are." Ron tried to think of a way to phrase the definition without somehow sounding offensive or condescending. It never occurred to him how awkward it was to explain the concept to an actual muggle. "It's a person who can't use magic."

"Can you tell me more about magic, Mr. Jackson?"

"Shh! Not so loud. Do you want them to hear us all the way in Lincolnshire?"

"Sorry," Alphonse said in a much quieter voice. "Can you tell me more about magic? I'm really curious."

"Sure." _I'm going to obliviate him anyway, so it can't do any harm. _"Well, when wizards turn eleven they get sent off to school—at least they're eleven in the UK, I'm not so sure about other places. Hermione might—uh…never mind. Anyway, the school I go—sorry, _went_—to is called Hogwarts, though I hear it's a bloody mess right now with You-Know-Who in power."

"Sorry, I don't know who."

"What? How could you not—oh right. You're a muggle. My bad. Well, you see, there was this guy named…uh...well, I shouldn't say his name. They probably have wards on it now or something. Anyway, he was a really bad guy who wanted to kill all of the muggles and wizards born from muggles and he got this group of followers called—"

"Wait, is magic genetic, then? If muggles can have wizard children, can wizards have muggle children?"

"Yeah. I don't there are many of them out there, but they're called squibs and nobody really likes them all that much. Anyway, like I was saying, this guy, the Dark Lord, had a bunch of followers and—"

"Why don't people like squibs?"

Ron paused. He hadn't really given it much thought before. Squibs were just kind of annoying. He suspected it must have been hard on parents to learn that their child would never go on to be the amazing wizard that they hoped he would be. They probably fed off of that disappointment and grew bitter. "They're usually jealous of wizards and that turns them into grumpy old gits with cats and—"

"I like cats," Alphonse announced.

"Bloody hell! Can I finish my sentence, please? Thank you. Anyway, the Dark Lord had a number of people following him. Called themselves Death Eaters—"

"They can't actually eat death though, right? That's just what they're called. I mean—oh, sorry! I didn't mean to interrupt. Keep going."

Damn, this kid asked a lot of questions. "No, they didn't _eat _death, they _caused _it. Real nasty bunch. So, one day, their leader heard of this prophecy that this kid was going to grow up and maybe destroy him. The kid was only a year old at the time, so he figured that he'd be pretty easy to take out, I guess. So he went over to the kid's house and killed his parents and then tried to kill the baby—" Alphonse let out a little gasp of horror, but he didn't interrupt. Ron was grateful for that. "And he couldn't. Instead, the spell he used ended up backfiring and killing him. Or, at least that's what we thought at the time. A couple years back, he returned and—"

"Wait, he RETURNED? As in, came back from the dead?"

Ron shot Alphonse a look, but the boy didn't apologize for speaking out this time. "The circumstances were strange. My fr...uh, Harry Potter—the baby he tried to kill, though he's not a baby anymore—was there when it happened."

Alphonse raised his hand as an indication that he wanted Ron to stop speaking. "Sorry," he said. "It's just a lot to wrap my head around. Are you sure it was really him who came back and not…not something else?"

"Ugh. Now you're starting to sound like the Ministry. Yes, I'm positive it was him."

"So it's possible, then," the boy seemed to be speaking to himself. "I don't understand…our equations…they all added up. If it really is possible, Brother and I should have…but then…this Dark Lord guy must have had to pay a heavy price."

"I guess," Ron shrugged. "He used some sort of potion."

"This is going to sound strange," said Alphonse, "but do you know if there was something called a Philosopher's Stone involved in the process?"

Ron stopped dead in his tracks. His trainers squeaked loudly on the asphalt as he spun around to face him. "How do you know about that? You're a muggle! You're not supposed to know about that!"

"I'm not? Well, I know I'm not supposed to know how it's _made_…"

"I guess it doesn't really matter, though. The thing was destroyed like six years ago."

Now it was Alphonse's turn to come to a halt. "D-destroyed? How could anyone…? But all of those lives…how could they just be wasted?"

Ron blinked. "Are you all right there, Mate?"

"Y-yeah. I'm fine."

More lying. There was definitely something big that this kid was hiding and whatever it was seemed to be really troubling him. Ron was going to try and see what information he could extract. Maybe the boy knew something useful that could help defeat Voldemort. It was a far cry, sure, but certainly better than nothing.

"Let's change the subject," the redhead suggested. "I'll tell you more about the wizard world, okay?"

Alphonse seemed reluctant, probably wanting to talk more about the Philosopher's Stone and Voldemort's resurrection, but Ron decided it was his turn to do the asking.

"We go to school until we're eighteen. I think muggles go even longer, don't they?"

Alphonse shrugged. "Some do."

"Well, why aren't you in school, then?"

"I finished my education a while ago. I think the schools you're thinking of are the kind that we have in cities. I grew up in a rural area, so I didn't really have much an organized education save for a few years of elementary school. Our Mom taught us to read and write and then Brother and I did some work on our own. Typically in the countryside children take up apprenticeship in their early teens, though Brother and I got ourselves a teacher when we were even younger. And then sometimes people will travel to cities for a university education if they want to."

Great. This wasn't getting him anywhere. Hermione was better at obtaining useful facts. Even Harry had more experience than him. Ron thought back into the rare accessed analytical part of his mind and tried to think of something to say.

Ron wished he would have spoken sooner, because Alphonse apparently took his silence as an invitation to redirect the conversation. "I have a question."

Ron glowered. "…Do you now?"

"Yeah. What do wizards do after school? Is there a branch of them working for the government? Because in Amestris, the state employs alchemists in the military. My brother's one: Major Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist." Alphonse's voice was filled with pride and Ron instinctively scowled.

There was nothing so great about a sibling working for the government. He ought to know. Ron was all set to go on a rant about how much of a git Percy was when something else occurred to him. "But isn't your brother, like, fifteen?"

"Sixteen, actually. He joined when he was twelve."

"What?! What kind of idiotic country do you live in that lets children join the military?"

"Brother was kind of an exception. Besides, his work was mostly research and I was always there to help."

"You're in the military, too?"

"Um…no."

"So you decided to do research _willingly_? No offense, Alphonse—"

"You can call me Al."

Ron's eyes narrowed. "No offense, _Al_, but you grew up in a pretty messed up place."

Al chuckled quietly. "Trust me, I know."

"And to answer your question, no. we don't work with the muggle government. In fact, they don't know we exist. Wizards have their own government, the Ministry of Magic, though it's kind of gone to hell now."

"The muggles don't even know about you? But…but then how can you help them? 'Alchemist be thou for the people,' that's our motto."

Ron scowled. "Yeah, well it isn't ours, so I suggest you shut your trap. There's a reason we don't tell them, you know. It's because they'll all end up asking a bunch of annoying questions like you! Besides, you know how demanding people are. Once they find out about magic, they'll want us to fix their machines and cure their sick and…and stuff. And they'd go mad if we told them. Barking mad! All your scientist friends would probably round us up for experiments and whatnot." He was aware that his answer did not sound particularly articulate or convincing, but it was the best he could come up with off the top of his head.

He expected Alphonse to start shouting and the injustice in his words, but instead the boy spoke in a quiet voice that was barely above a whisper. "Isn't your Dark Lord person trying to kill them? Don't they have a right to know if they're in danger?"

"They'd…they'd panic." His answers were growing more and more pathetic.

"Why does that matter?" Al paused. "Wait a minute. If muggles aren't supposed to know about your world, then why did you tell me?"

"Yeah…about that…um…" He looked off to the side of the road. They were just outside of Princetown. Ron reached into his pocket and drew his wand. "I'm sorry 'bout this, Al. I really am…"

"Hey! What are you—"

"_Obliviate!"_

There was a flash of light and the armored boy looked around in confusion before turning back to face Ron. "What was something supposed to happen?"

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**Now, to my lovely reviewers: **

**Brick: Ed may or may not show up later. For now it's just Al.**

**Breyannia: Good call on the obliviation. I didn't think that anyone would see that coming. I'm impressed. As for your other questions, they will be addressed in later chapters.**

**Sincerely The Sign Painter: Thank you.**

**Legendarily Quiet: Another good catch from a reviewer. I actually didn't know whether I was going to give him alchemy or not for a while. **

**krilavti: It's while he's unconscious. Something went wrong when he reached the Gate.**

**Dana Sto Helit: Thanks.**

** : I agree, Alphonse doesn't get enough spotlight. Not that Ed isn't also awesome! **


	3. Chapter 3

**Note: This chapter contains an excerpt from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.**

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Well this was awkward.

"What was…wait a minute! You were trying to use magic on me, weren't you?" Alphonse took a threatening step towards him.

"N-no I wasn't! Honest!" Ron held his hands up defensively took a step backwards. Al pushed him back further with another step and Ron tripped over a tree root as he stumbled back. "Okay. Fine. Maybe I tried to use a _little _magic. But I wasn't going to hurt you or anything. I only wanted to erase your memories."

Alphonse stopped advancing. "_Only_ erase my memories? What do you mean 'only'? That's not the kind of thing you say only about!"

Crap. This wasn't going well at all. "Look, you have to understand. It wouldn't have been_ all_ your memories. I just wanted—"

"No, I _do_ understand." It sounded like Alphonse was crying underneath his armor. Fantastic! Now Ron felt guilty. But what for? He hadn't done anything wrong. "You wizards keep your world clean and isolated by erasing the memories of any muggles who see you doing magic. In other words, you don't take any responsibility for your own actions because you think that a wave of your wand will fix everything!"

Ron gritted his teeth and tried to speak calmly. He knew, at least intellectually, that Alphonse had a right to be upset, but he also knew that he couldn't afford to let the muggle get away. Not with the information he now held. Swallowing his pride, Ron tried to grovel. "Sorry. I won't try it again. This sort of thing has never happened before. Let me help you find your way home and—"

There was a brief moment where Ron thought the muggle would take him up on his offer. He should have known he wouldn't be so lucky. "No thanks," Al whispered after a long pause. At least he didn't sound angry anymore. That was _something_. "I don't really want your help right now. Please try to understand. I think I'll just find a phone and call Central Headquarters." He put his hands together and gave Ron a little bow of acknowledgement. "Thank you for everything you've done. I…I guess I'll be going now." He started walking towards the Princetown sign when he suddenly stopped and turned around, as if to add an afterthought. "Maybe once Brother and I clear things up in Amestris, we can help you guys fight this Dark Lord person. I hope you stop him, I really do." Alphonse turned around again; this time he did not look back.

* * *

Something seemed…off about Princetown, Al decided. On the surface it looked like a pretty normal village. Children were running around, adults were rushing off to work, but the more Alphonse observed the place, the more he was convinced that something was wrong. There were too many cars, for one thing. It seemed that everybody was driving somewhere. And the buildings seemed too large to belong to a town—though he would hardly call it a town; the place seemed almost as big as Central.

If he hadn't been in such a rush, Al would have loved to stop and admire the architecture. One building in particular caught his eye and he found that he couldn't help but stop and stare. The exterior, which contained a sign that read _Church of St. Michael_, was large and made of stone with an enormous tower in the front. What confused Alphonse, though, was the scattering of headstones around the building.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" said a man, coming up from behind.

Al couldn't help but agree. "Yeah. I've always liked looking at churches. Which god does this one belong to?"

The man gave him a strange look and then started to laugh. "You're funny, lad. It's been a while since I've had myself a good laugh."

Confused, Alphonse decided to accept the complement anyway. "Um…thank you." Then he remembered why he was in the town in the first place. "Do you know where I could use a phone?"

"Of course. Follow me."

The man led Alphonse to payphone at the end of a sidewalk. Al thanked the him with a customary bow (which made the man chuckle again for some reason) and then proceeded to awkwardly stuff his armored body into the telephone booth. Luckily, he still had some spare cenz on him. Only…the phone didn't accept his money.

That was when Alphonse began to really panic. "Oh no…" He tried again with a different coin and was given the same result. This wasn't good.

"Hey, circus freak! You need some money?"

It took Alphonse a moment to realize that the speaker was referring to him. Al turned around and saw the boy around his brother's age. He sighed in relief at his good luck from the kind stranger. "Yes, please. This phone doesn't seem to accept my currency."

The boy grinned. Alphonse noticed that his teeth seemed to be held together by a wire and several metal studs. How odd. But before he could ask the child about it, the boy chucked a rock in his direction and blew him a raspberry. Al instinctively cringed when he heard the hollow cling of his armor as it collided with the pebble. Even after so many years in his pseudobody, the thought that nothing was inside of him was still frightening.

Al turned to ask the boy why he had done such a rude thing, but the kid had already run off in another direction.

Luckily an elderly onlooker seemed sympathetic to his plight and approached the phone booth. "Sorry about that, Dear," she said kindly. "My grandson can be quite the rascal sometimes. Were you trying to place a call?"

"Yes. But I'm not from around here and my money doesn't seem to do any good."

The woman nodded understandingly and reached into her purse. "I understand. Here, take this. It should be enough to cover a long distance call."

"Thank you very much, ma'am." He held out the cenz as payment, but the woman shook her head.

"That's quite all right, Dear. Consider it payment for my grandson's behavior."

"Oh, that's very kind of you, but I couldn't! That wouldn't be an equivalent exchange." He tried a few more times to give her the money, but she refused every time. Eventually, Alphonse sighed in defeat and slid the coins into the slot. He reached to dial…and stopped.

This phone was nothing like he had ever seen before. Instead of a dial, it had buttons. Al vaguely remembered Sergeant Fuery mentioning something about work on new phone technology to make the calling process quicker, but he had no idea that the updated versions were already available for public use.

It wasn't difficult to figure out how to use the buttons,t least, and Alphonse let out a sigh of relief when he heard the familiar ringing sound on the other end.

"Dursley Residence. Vernon speaking. Who's this?" the voice on the other end sounded irritated.

_Must be a new receptionist,_ Al figured. "Hi, Mr. Vernon. My name is Alphonse Elric. Is Colonel Mustang in?"

There was an incredulous-sounding snort on the other end. "Colonel? Is this supposed to be some sort of joke? Because, let me tell you, I am not in the mood for jokes."

"Sorry. This isn't Central Headquarters, is it? Do you know the Fullmetal Alchemist?"

The voice began shouting in a manner that caused his entire metal frame to shudder from the vibrations and Alphonse had to hold the receiver a distance away to comprehend the actual words being spoken. "ARE YOU DEAF, BOY? I ALREADY TOLD YOU THIS WAS THE DURSLEY RESIDENCE!" the shouting stopped and Alphonse wondered if he had been cut off. He was about to hang up when he realized that the voice on the other end was now whispering. Al quickly moved the phone closer so that he could hear. "…from the boy's people, are you? He's gone, I swear. We have nothing to do with him anymore. He's gone, out of our lives, and I want nothing to do with you people. Now leave us in peace. Don't touch me or my family, you hear?"

"Hey, what—" but the line went dead.

"THERE you are!"

Alphonse turned around. Jack Jackson was bent over with his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. _He must have run after me,_ he realized.

Al exited the phone booth and waiting for the readhead to catch his breath. "Why did you follow me?"

"I can't exactly leave you alone now that you know about our world, now can I?"

"I won't tell anybody about you guys, I just want…" his voice trailed off. "No!" the armor squeaked. "No, it can't be!" He felt his nonexistent stomach drop in horror.

"What? What is it?"

Unable to speak, Al pointed to the newspaper dispenser. Ron walked over and looked at it, unimpressed. "So what?"

"Look at the date."

He did. "What about it?"

"It says October 14, _1997_. That can't be right. It _can't_ be."

A shadow of concern passed over Ron's face as he seemed to realize that this was making Alphonse more nervous than he had ever seen him. "Why?"

"Because a few hours ago, it was 1915."

Alphonse gave the other boy a couple of seconds to let the news sink in.

It was then Ron recalled a conversation he had with Padma Patil during the Yule Ball. The Ravenclaw had mentioned something about a mystical force muggles believed in called karma or korma or something that caused good things to happen to people who did good and bad things to happen to people who did evil. At the time Ron had just dismissed it as hogwash, but now he was starting to think that this Alphonse kid was his korma for abandoning his friends.

The boy must have been insane. There wasn't any other explanation, was there? Nobody could travel through time more than a few hours and he had never heard of someone going _forward_. Besides, hadn't all the time turners been destroyed?

But this boy's memories of his home were vivid. Maybe they had been tampered with. _Magically_. "Alphonse," he called. "I think we should go back to the forest. There's something I need to discuss with you. Please trust me."

To his relief, Alphonse nodded and agreed to follow. Ron wasn't sure why he cared so much about the boy's well-being. Maybe it was because he had saved him from the snatchers. Or maybe it was the fact that they were both wanderers without anyplace to go. Whatever the reason, though, Ron knew that he was going to have to get the boy some help.

If there was anyone who would know what to do, it would be Hermione. She would recognize any signs of obscure magic on him. Ron wondered briefly if she and Harry would still be cross with him, but he decided it was a risk he'd have to take. Besides, no matter how much they had it out against him, Ron knew that his friends would never turn away somebody in need.

"While I'm coming clean, I might as well let you know that my name is really Ron Weasley."

Once they were back in the forest and away from muggle ears, Ron spoke up. "I'm going to take you to a friend of mine. She should be able to help and…and maybe get you back home." Ron felt bad about lying, but he didn't think that he could get Al to follow him any other way.

Understandably, the armored boy was skeptical. "How?"

Ron shrugged. "Hell if I know. She's the smart one, not me. Don't tell her I said that." He looked up and noticed that the rain was starting again. "Let's go."

He just hoped the campsite hadn't moved yet.

…And that Hermione wouldn't kill him before he could explain the situation.

* * *

When Harry woke the following day it was several seconds before he remembered what had happened. Then he hoped, childishly, that it had been a dream, that Ron was still there and had never left. Yet by turning his head on his pillow he could see Ron's deserted bunk. It was like a dead body in the way it seemed to draw his eyes. Harry jumped down from his own bed, keeping his eye averted from Ron's. Hermione, who was already busy in the kitchen, did not wish Harry a good morning, but turned her face away quickly as he went by.

_He's gone,_ Harry told himself. _He's gone._ He had to keep thinking it as he washed and dressed, as though the repetition would dull the shock of it. _He's gone and he's not coming back._ And that was the simple truth of it, Harry knew, because their protective enchantment meant that it would be impossible, once they vacated this spot, for Ron to find them again.

He and Hermione ate breakfast in silence. Hermione's eyes were puffy and red; she looked as if she had not slept. They packed up their things, Hermione dawdling. Harry knew why she wanted to spin out their time on the riverbank; several times he saw her look up eagerly, and he was sure that she had deluded herself into hearing footsteps through the heavy rain. Sometimes Harry imitated her and looked around, too. Neither of them expected to actually find anything. But sure enough, just as they were about to disapparate, Harry saw the familiar red-headed figure in the distance.

"He better be ready to apologize," Hermione whispered.

"Who's that with him?" wondered Harry. Had Ron been so afraid of their reaction that he'd brought this hulking figure as some sort of protection? The idea was far fetched, but why else would there be a giant in a suit of armor walking beside him? Harry saw Ron relating inaudible words to the armored man, though it soon became obvious what he had said when the armored boy stayed behind as Ron approached him and Hermione.

He gave the two a curt nod, but refused to meet their eyes. "I need a favor," he said.

Maybe it was the horcrux around his neck, but Harry couldn't help but feel anger bubbling inside of him. "Oh? So suddenly we're not useless anymore?"

"You don't need to let me rejoin you guys or anythin', but there's somebody I want Hermione to look at." He motioned to the armored man. "His name is Alphonse Elric. I met him in the woods last night and he and I managed to fight off a group of snatchers. He's a muggle, though, so I tried obliviating him afterwards, only…the spell had no effect on him."

Hermione gasped, her anger apparently forgotten. "Are you sure? Who is this man? Where did he come from?"

"I don't know. He's more boy than man, though. He says he's fourteen and I don't even think his voice has changed yet. He claims he's from a place called Amestris and that he's looking for his brother."

"Amestris?" Hermione frowned. "Never heard of it. It might be in Cornwall."

Harry suppressed a snort. A place Hermione had never heard of? Did such a thing even exist?

"But it's more than that. He keeps going on about alchemy and—"

"Hang on," said Harry. "Isn't that the stuff Nicolas Flamel practiced?"

Ron's eyes widened. "That would explain how he knew about the Philosopher's Stone."

"How does he know about that? Didn't you say he was a muggle?"

Hermione shook her head. "Some muggles have heard the legend. Are you sure he said he was fourteen? Doesn't he seem a bit tall to you? What does he look like under the armor?"

"I dunno. He never takes it off. Says it's a hobby."

She crossed her arms. "Well, that's suspicious, don't you think?"

Harry nodded. "Why did you bring him here, Ron? What if he's connected to the Death Eaters?"

"He's not," Ron's voice was firm. "At least not directly. I…I think somebody performed dark magic on him."

"What makes you think that?"

"Well, for one, he's convinced the year is 1915."

"But that's…! Let me talk to him. Harry, back me up if you see anything suspicious." She began to march forward.

"Right!" Harry had keep his pace at a brisk jog to keep up with her. He turned to Ron. "Is he dangerous?"

Ron shook his head. "Not at all. He's actually—"

"Hi! I'm Alphonse. You must be Ron's friend Hermione. It's so nice to me you!"

"…Really friendly."

Alphonse looked up at the two approaching boys. Even though Ron claimed he wasn't dangerous, Harry took a nervous step backwards when he saw the helmet's glowing red eyes stare down at him.

There was a roaring sound overhead.

"What's that?" asked Alphonse, his voice filled with childish curiosity and absolute amazement.

Harry relaxed a bit. "That's an airplane."

Hermione seemed perplexed. "They had airplanes in 1915," she muttered, mostly to herself.

Once Alphonse had calmed down from the excitement of a vehicle that flew, the group rebuilt the campsite (Alphonse had watch in complete awe) and settled in. When Alphonse spoke again, his voice sounded much more serious.

"Hermione, Ron says that you need to examine me outside of the armor to check for dark magic. I don't think you'll find any, but I'm willing to comply because he says that you guys can be trusted. Just know that what you're about to see will be…kind of disturbing."

"We've probably seen worse," said Harry.

"Okay, then. Just try not to scream, okay?" Alphonse reached for his helmet and pulled upwards: it was empty.

* * *

**Ah, and the plot progresses!**

**As a note, please don't usually expect me to update so fast. I just decided to take advantage of the long weekend.**

**Sincerely The Sign Painter: It's a concept from the first anime. Basically, in our world (which is on the other side of the Gate) alchemy doesn't work. Knowing Alphonse, though, he's going to get past this barrier in all likelihood.**

**Vivianne_95: Haha, yep!**

**Harrys_woman: Don't worry, Ron, you do interesting stuff too (occasionally). **

**Guest: Good observation. True, they technically have the option to opt out of school at age 17 because they're legally adults, but typically the seventh years are eighteen when they finish school unless they have a really late birthday like Harry or Ginny. Besides, do you really think Mrs. Weasley would let her children know that dropping out of Hogwarts early was really an option?**

**Breyannia: Glad you like it so far. I'm sorry I couldn't answer your question in this chapter, but, as I'm sure you can see, it will addressed very soon.**

**Kale Of The Dragons: Thank you.**

**The_Awesome_Us: Aw, thanks! I'm really happy that you enjoy it. I also agree that characters with contrasting personalities are some of the most fun to read and write about. **

**krilavti: Yep. Alphonse is a sweetie.**

**xo._skyla: Thanks. I briefly considered just ending the chapter after the spell was cast, but then I decided that even I wasn't _that_ mean. Also, good observation on the alchemy.**

**Lady Cocoa: Correct. I always assumed that you needed to know what you were aiming at in order to successfully cast a spell. Some other ones will affect him, though.**

**So that's chapter three. What do you guys think? Are Harry and Hermione realistic? Is there anything in particular that anyone wants to see in the future? Please let me know.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hurray for updates!**

* * *

Alphonse's revelation was met by several screams. It wasn't the first time he'd received such a reaction. Still, Al had been hoping these kids would be different somehow. After all, if they believed in magic, how much of a stretch was a talking suit of armor?

"Please don't be scared. I know it's kind of strange, but—"

A bright light shot out of the girl—Hermione's—wand. Naturally, Alphonse assumed that her "spell" would not affect him, just as Ron's hadn't. In a sense he was right to think so, unfortunately this spell wasn't supposed to affect him, per say. Alphonse realized this too late when he saw a series of ropes (_what?!) _wrap themselves around his arms and legs. He dropped his helmet in shock and it toppled to the floor.

"How did you do that?" he asked in horror. "You…you can't _do _that!"

"What's he talking about?"

"The ropes…they came out of nowhere…how…? The mass, where did it come from? You can't create something from nothing, it's supposed to be impossible." How could they have just completely rewritten the law of Equivalent Exchange? Nobody could do that unless they had a…

"You're empty," Ron's voice seemed unsure of the words he was speaking. The redhead stepped forward glanced downward into the armor. He stuck his hand inside and waved it around, as if expecting to find an invisible person inside. "There's really nothing inside you," he said again, probably hoping that changing the words slightly would make the situation easier to swallow.

"Ron, get away from him. It could be dangerous. Harry, you stand guard. Ron and I will unpack." Harry grunted.

"I'm not dangerous," Alphonse insisted.

Harry ignored him. His eyes were cold and unsympathetic. Al tried to speak a few more times, but was only met with the same result. He wished he'd been paired with Ron or the girl.

Getting bored with his current situation, he began testing out the ropes to examine their strength and was pleasantly surprised to find that he could easily break through them.

"How the hell did you break through?" Harry, who seemed to have dozed off on his watch, was suddenly alert and terrified. Alphonse knew he could easily take the teen, but he didn't want to hurt anybody if he could avoid it. He needed to the find the other two and explain his situation properly, but Harry was having none of it.

"HERMIONE, COME OUT HERE! THE THING…IT ESCAPED!"

The bushy-haired girl burst through one of the doors, wand drawn. Al then felt the distinct sensation of falling forward but for some reason he could not right himself. In fact, he couldn't move at all.

Harry looked just as surprised as Alphonse felt. "What did you cast?" he asked Hermione.

The bushy-haired girl spoke quickly, with a distinctly nervous edge to her tone. "_Agedimio_. It's basically_ petrificus totalus _for inanimate objects. It's the best I could do under the circumstances. I've never said it before, so I don't know how long it lasts."

"What do we do when it wears off?"

"We have to immobilize him. I can produce ropes, but he might be able to break through them. Err…give me a second; I think I have an idea." She furrowed her brow, as if deep in thought. "I've got it," she announced after a few seconds. Turning to Alphonse, the girl whispered, "_Memboro Ungula_."

With several distinct popping sounds, Alphonse's metal limbs were removed from their sockets. Alphonse couldn't really feel, so he couldn't exactly say it "hurt," but there was something undeniably disconcerting about being broken apart. The shocked boy continued to watch in awe and horror as Hermione and her friends proceeded to scatter the pieces around the room and reinforce each joint with more freezing spells, sending Al's proprioception into chaos and disarray.

Finding his voice, Al tried to call out. "What…what are you doing?!"

The three teenagers jumped in alarm. With Ron's spell concentration ruined, one of his arms came clattering to the ground. The redhead frowned and recast his "wingardium leviosa."

"He can still talk?" whispered Harry in awe.

"Makes sense. He doesn't really have vocal chords. His voice is coming from a different source altogether. Come on, help me move his arm—no, don't touch it. You don't know what kind of curses could be attached."

"Curses?" Alphonse repeated. What was happening? Why were these people taking him apart? "Ron," he tried to call out to the redhead. Weasley cringed at the sound of his name. "Ron, I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier. I had no idea you'd react like…like _this_. Please, I promise I don't want to hurt anybody. I just need to get back home." He wished that he had waited for a more opportune time to break out of his bonds.

Ron's eyes refused to meet any part of the armor. "Sorry 'bout this, Al," he whispered. "We can't take any chances."

"Sorry?!" Harry practically shrieked. "You bring that…that _thing_ in here and you say you're sorry to _it_?!"

Alphonse felt like crying. Never before had he received such a terrible reaction. Had he known, he'd have never taken his helmet off in the first place.

And to make matters worse, Ron was being blamed for it. "Please don't be mad at Ron," his voice sounded shaky even though he lacked any physical components to make it waver. "He was just trying to help me. He had no idea I was…like this."

Harry huffed and folded his arms.

"Take the horcrux off," Hermione suggested. Her voice was also shaking slightly. She sounded scared. "It's affecting your behavior."

"You know damn well that I have every right to be upset with this bastard," hissed the black-haired boy. He turned to address Alphonse. "Alright, Horcrux, we know what you are so you can drop the act."

"Horcrux?"

Ron made his way over to Hermione. "You know, I really don't think he's dangerous…"

"Horcruxes can be charming, Ronald. Remember the diary?"

Ron's face fell as he suppressed what looked like a disgusted shudder. Whatever Hermione had mentioned certainly had an effect on him because the redhead stopped protesting and simply settled for viewing Alphonse with a nervous gaze.

"What diary?" Al's voice grew more frantic when he realized that they were ignoring him. "I have no idea what you guys are talking about! Please put me back together. I'll leave you alone, I promise. _Please_! M-my brother needs me..."

"Brother?" Harry repeated.

"It might be an artificial memory," Hermione concluded, looking the armor over. "I don't know much about their creation process…did Dumbledore mention anything that might allude to this?"

Harry hesitated and Ron snorted. "Lovely. Just another little detail the old man omitted, I suppose?"

_No._ No, Alphonse was not going down that road again. His memories were definitely real. "It's not artificial! He's real and I need to get back to him. And my friends…they have no idea the Briggs has been taken over. I have to warn them." It was hard to conjure up words. Al had never been in this many pieces before and he found it completely disorienting.

Ron's eyes shined with pity, but the other two were unyielding.

This wasn't looking good for him. There had to be_ some_ way to persuade them, though. They were just kids, after all. They didn't seem like bad people. Alphonse refused to give up. He had to get to the others. He just _had_ to. Nobody else could make it through the snowstorm. "Tell me about these horcruxes. If I can help you guys in any way, I will. I at least have a right to know why you did this to me, don't I?"

"'Mione, I really don't think he's lying. We should at least_ try _to talk to him. He's not going anywhere, after all."

Hermione sighed. "I admit he sounds genuine. But think about this logically. If You-Know-Who wanted to create something difficult to destroy, what better way to do it than get us to sympathize with it? That being said, it doesn't really seem like his style…" She turned to Harry. "Is your scar bothering you?"

"It's _always _bothering me," he grumbled.

"I mean more than usual?"

"Not especially, no."

Ron grinned. "You see? Maybe there's a different reason he's like this. We don't know for sure that he's a—"

Harry stood up from his chair. "Are you actually defending it?!"

_It?_ Alphonse wondered. Did the boy really think that lowly of him?

"All I'm saying is that we haven't heard his side of the story yet. Give him a chance, will you? We have no way of really knowing that he's a horcrux." He turned to Al. "_Are_ you a horcrux?"

"That depends…what exactly a horcrux?"

The three looked at each other as if debating whether to confide in a potentially dangerous stranger. Eventually, Hermione stepped forward. "It's a soul magically bound to an inanimate object as a way to cheat death." The girl's eyes suddenly grew dark. "The binder, of course, has to pay a terrible price."

That sounded pretty accurate, actually. Almost uncannily accurate. Not in a position to lie, he decided to come clean. "I might be one," Al admitted. "But Brother didn't use magic. He used alchemy. I mean, there's no such thing as real magic. I'm guessing this Dark Lord you guys are fighting also made one?"

"We think he made seven." Harry shot Ron a look of annoyance, not at all thrilled with the other boy's eagerness to share information with the enemy.

"S-seven? How? What else could he possibly have to give?" Alphonse couldn't even imagine the kind of person who would have to bind seven souls. Perhaps it was a big accident and he needed to save several people. But then why would these three be fighting him? They seemed like pretty nice people, even if the black-haired boy didn't trust him. "I mean, I'm sure he had a reason…"

"See?" Harry threw his hands up in the air in frustration. "He's trying to justify murder!"

"Murder? No! I never said anything like that. I've never killed anybody before. Neither has Brother."

"I've had enough of this," growled Harry. "If anyone needs me, I'll be in my room."

Hermione, who looked like she might burst into tears at any moment, ran after him, telling Ron to watch Alphonse.

"Fantastic. I brought you here so that I wouldn't have to be the babysitter, and look how well that turned out." He crossed his arms and slumped into a chair, his eyes never leaving the suit of armor.

"I'm sorry," Alphonse said. "I didn't mean to make him upset."

"Don't apologize. That dodgy locket messes with whoever wears it." His eyes moved up and down the empty torso, Alphonse was growing increasingly uncomfortable.

"What does it feel like?" he asked suddenly.

"What does what feel like?"

"You know," he motioned to him. "Being like that." His ears went pink. "Never mind. I guess if you weren't really ever a person, you would know."

"I _am_ a person, though. That's what I've been trying to tell you. My brother bound my soul to this suit of armor to keep me alive when I was ten. There…there was an accident. Brother was so brave, though…"

"Is this the same brother who works for the military?"

"Yeah. Edward. He's just…amazing."

Ron snorted. "Can't see how someone who would turn you into _that_ could be so amazing."

"Brother did it to save my life! If he hadn't acted so he quickly, The Gate would've…" his voice faltered. The Gate! Flashes of memories suddenly filled Alphonse's mind. Two large doors. A mocking white figure. An emaciated body. His _body_. He had tried to reach for it and then…

"The doors opened," he recalled in horror, not realizing that he was voicing his thoughts aloud. "The arms…they reached for me and Truth said something about a different world…so I time-traveled." Al wondered if his brother was still alive and if he had been searching for him all this time. He felt guilty, knowing that Ed would put the blame on himself if Al didn't reach the little Xingese girl and the others.

He tried desperately to search his mind to see if Truth had told him anything else helpful, anything at all that would give him a clue about where he was. But what if Edward had left Amestris? Al let out a little gasp as a terrifying thought occurred to him. What if Amestris didn't exist anymore? It could happen. Countries changed borders all the time. Was that why nobody here had heard of it? Still, something didn't fit. Surely Amestris would at least show up in history books. It was, after all, a major world power during his time.

"Alphonse!" from the nervousness in Ron's voice it sounded like he had been calling his name several times without receiving a response.

"Sorry. What is it?" Al snapped out of his daze. He noticed that Hermione was standing next to him and looking directly at his blood seal. Did she know what it meant? No. That was impossible. How could she?

Ron gave Hermione a little nudge and she cleared her throat. "I just went through my encyclopedia—"

"Which, for some unfathomable reason, she decided to take on our horcrux hunt," Ron interjected, earning a glare from the girl.

"I just went through my encyclopedia," Hermione repeated. "And I can't find any mention of Amestris. Can you describe where it is on the map?" She opened the book to a blue and green page that labeled hundreds of countries Alphonse had never heard of.

"This can't be right," the armor breathed. "The continents are all distorted. They're all the right shapes, but they're in the wrong places! Xing should be further north and…and Creta doesn't stick out like that…" There was no way the earth's plates could have shifted so dramatically in eighty-two years. Something was seriously wrong.

_A different world, _Truth had said. Could he have really meant…?

Suddenly it all made sense. The strange place names, the misunderstandings, the lack of alchemy.

He wasn't just in the wrong time. He was in the wrong _world_.

* * *

**krilavti: Those were my thoughts too. I'm glad you like my Harry and Hermione.**

**Sincerely The Sign Painter: Thanks.**

**Breyannia: Yeah, I'm sort of hypocrite when it comes to cliffhangers myself. I hate it when writers use them, but I use them all the time.**

***Ambiguity in D Major: It's at the point when Al set out by himself in the snow storm to warn Mei, Yoki, Marco, and Scar (?) that General Armstrong had ben transferred from the Briggs and Central was sending in their own people. Since Alphonse wouldn't be affected by the cold, he decided to meet them on the other side of the tunnel and warn them.**

**Harrys_woman: You're right. Alphonse really does bring out the best in people. Also, to b fair, it's not exactly difficult to see the good in an adorable kitten-sized panda bear, regardless of whether or not it bites.**

**Suzululu_4_moe: Yep. I was originally planning on having Al phone Dudley's friend Piers Polkiss, but I figured that would be too obscure of a reference. As for your other point, I intend to avoid pairings for the most part in this story because I'm not very good at writing them. I may hint at romantic interest between characters, but I doubt I'll do anything further.**

**The_Awesome_Us: Considering that there are My original plan was to have Piers Polkiss, a member of Dudley's gang, pick up the phone, but I decided that would be a little too obscure for the average fan to pick up on.**

**xo._skyla: Thank you for reviewing. Hopefully their response was satisfactory.**

**urs-v: Thanks. I'm glad you like it.**

**Aijay: I can probably fit a character in the background at some point. It depends on how long I plan on making this story.**

**FullMetal_Panic: Wow. First of all, that you for writing a mega-sized review. I don't think I've ever gotten one so long before. I'm thrilled that you like it and really appreciate how thorough you were in your review. **I only hope I can keep up my standard if I'm going to be worthy of such praise. **I am especially pleased that you enjoyed the philosophical exchange between Ron and Alphonse because I was a bit worried that readers would lose interest with so much dialogue and so little action. As for the snatchers, they never really played a big part in the books. They're basically rogue wizards during the seventh book who try to make money by kidnapping muggle borns and handing them over to Death Eaters. **


	5. Chapter 5

**This chapter is a bit shorter than the others, but I promised myself I would get something up before Rosh Hashanah (Jewish New Year). And now I can say with pride that I am posting this several hours before the holiday. Now I can guiltlessly stuff my face with apples and honey. **

**As always, reviews are welcome and I always respond to them below the chapter. **

**I've also been working on another FMA fanfic that involves Tucker using Ed for his project instead of Nina. I'll probably start posting chapters from it pretty soon. **

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Hermione Granger was stumped. It was not something that she had much experience with, but she decided that it was extremely unpleasant. Hundreds of questions were running through her head leaving her completely overwhelmed and discombobulated. Who was this Alphonse? What sort of game was he playing? Was he really one of Voldemort's horcruxes? If so, then why did she feel herself wanting to trust him? (Of course, that was leaving out all of the technical questions, like how he functioned without a brain.)

"I know what you're thinking, Hermione. Stop it." Harry was lying on his bunk, emerald eyes hyper-focused on the spider climbing his bedpost. Despite Hermione's desperate urging, he had refused to take off the locket. "That _thing_...it wants you to question things; that's how it plans to mess you up."

"But don't you think there could be some truth to what he's saying? I mean, if he saved Ron's life…" She followed Harry's eyes and saw that the spider had now reached the ceiling.

"That doesn't mean anything. For all we know, he just got rid of the snatchers so that he could care of Ron himself…AHH!" With a sudden jolt, Harry sat upright in the bed, gripping his head and screaming. Hermione watched with concern as her friend's eyes seemed to bulge out of their sockets, his entire body shaking with seizure-like convulsions. He rubbed his scar furiously, as if hoping it would erase. The episode lasted for a few seconds and left Harry's face covered in sweat.

"It's getting worse, isn't it? The pain." It wasn't a question.

Harry nodded, trying to resume normal breathing. The anger in his eyes was gone and in its place was something that made Hermione even more nervous: fear. "I just don't think we can afford to take any chances. I won't let anybody else get hurt because of my carelessness. Could Alphonse be just some random muggle under a confusing curse? Definitely! But we can't risk it until we know for sure."

Hermione nodded as bits and pieces of her friend's behavior finally clicked together. Of course! How could she have not seen it before? Harry Potter was drowning in guilt! All of the irritability, the paranoia—it sudden made sense. He blamed himself for Voldemort's return—and by extension, the mauling of Arthur Weasley and deaths of Cedric and Sirius. He thought everything was his fault. That they could have avoided if not for his own foolishness. Oh god, how long had he been living with that feeling? Hermione's stomach instinctively clenched. Why hadn't he told her? She could have helped! No. Of _course _he didn't tell her. Harry never wanted to put excess worry on his friends' shoulders. Maybe that was why he usually insisted on wearing the horcrux. If Alphonse turned out to be dangerous, Harry would never forgive himself.

Still… "We could at least try to test the validity of his claims," she offered, reaching into her handbag. Ah, there it was: her Encyclopedia. Now, where did Alphonse say he was from, again? Amestris? How was it spelled? Hermione tried a few variations and came up with nothing. What was Amestris, anyway? A country? A city? A town? It was so incredibly irritating just _not knowing_.

"Will you be okay by yourself?" she asked. Harry rolled his eyes and nodded. Encyclopedia tucked underneath her arm, Hermione entered the living room. "I have a question for Alphonse."

Ron shrugged. "Um…okay. Hey, Al." The armor did not respond and Ron began to panic. "Al?" Still no response. "Alphonse!"

"Sorry," the metal-tinted voice replied. "What is it?"

Hermione frowned when she spotted an abnormality in the armor: a red circle surrounding an eight-pointed star. Strange. She thought she heard Alphonse let out something akin to a gasp of horror when she eyed it, but it might have been her imagination.

Ron elbowed her lightly in the stomach and Hermione remembered what she had come for. Hermione cleared her throat and spoke. "I just went through my encyclopedia—"

"Which, for some unfathomable reason, she decided to take on our horcrux hunt," Ron interjected.

"I just went through my encyclopedia," Hermione repeated, glaring at the redhead, "and I can't find any mention of Amestris. Can you describe where it is on the map?" She opened the book to a map of the world's countries. Even if he had time traveled, she figured that Alphonse would at least be able to give her a rough location.

"This can't be right," the armor breathed. "The continents are all distorted. They're all the right shapes, but they're in the wrong places! Xing should be further north and…and Creta doesn't stick out like that…"

More odd place names. What was going on?

"Something's not right here," said Al, stating the obvious. "I…I don't even think I'm on he right planet. I know this sounds completely crazy, but maybe I didn't just time travel when I passed through the Gate. Maybe I dimension-hopped too."

_Gate? What Gate?_ wondered Hermione. She filed that mystery away in her brain for later. Right now she needed to focus on the elephant in the room. "Interdimensional travel, is that what you're suggesting?"

"I think so. Insane as it sounds, it seems to make the most sense."

Once again, she found herself drawn to the strange circle on the metal.

"Alphonse, what is that symbol?"

The armor let out what sounded like a very nervous breath. When he spoke, his voice sounded even higher-pitched than normal—an action that was pretty remarkable given his lack of vocal chords. "Wh-what symbol? Hehehe…." He was a bad liar. Or a very impressive actor. Assuming the former was true gave his earlier comments more credibility, Hermione decided.

"I think she means this one," said Ron, stepping towards the armor and leaning forward.

Hermione could have sworn she saw the torso trembling. "DON'T!" Alphonse shouted. Ron jumped back in alarm. "Please don't touch it. _Please_…it could kill me."

"But what is it?"

"It's my blood seal. My brother was bleeding to death and he saved my life by anchoring my soul to this armor using his own blood. I can't die. Not after all he's given up for me."

Hermione stared. Every time she thought she had figured the horcrux out it surprised her yet again. The emotion in his voice was difficult to feign and she found herself starting to genuinely sympathize with the boy's plight. He really did seem like a kind individual. Hermione briefly wondered if Tom Riddle's diary had come up with a heartwrenching backstory to trick Ginny, but somehow she doubted that this level of emotion could be faked.

"I don't know anything about this world," Alphonse admitted. "But you guys seem like nice people. Even if I am a horcrux, please know that I don't mean any harm to you. I…I just wish there was some way I could prove it. I guess my parallel universe theory isn't exactly helping my credibility."

Hermione tried not to look too incredulous, but it honestly sounded more like the plot to a_ Marvel_ comic than anything in this reality. Hmm...Marvel. Hermione normally wasn't one to indulge in fiction, but before attending Hogwarts, _Iron Man_ comics had been somewhat of a guilty pleasure. She may have not touched a comic in years, but her thought process couldn't help but be reminded by the genius in the armor with a single weak spot. The similarities ended there, really, but it was enough to bring back a sort of bitter nostalgia. She wanted to trust this boy. She wanted his story to be real.

"Figuring out a way to destroy that damn locket would be mighty helpful," Ron muttered sullenly. Hermione resisted the urge to slap him. If that boy really planned on rejoining the group, he'd need to develop a new attitude.

"You mean the one your friend was wearing before? The one that you said affected his moods?"

Ron nodded. It occurred to Hermione for the first time that Alphonse did not require his helmet to see things. She wondered in the "blood seal" acted as an anchor for his senses. She almost inquired about it, but Alphonse's next question shifted her attention.

"Well that's…wait a minute. Hermione, can you show me the world map again?" She showed him, wondering where this could possibly be going. There were a few moments of silence as the armor studied the topography. "I think I might be able to help you guys, after all."

Ron's eyes widened. He turned to Hermione with a look that said, _Did you just hear that?!_ "You mean it?"

Hermione was more skeptical. Sure, it would be _nice_ if they could trust him and awesome if they could take down some of Voldemort's horcruxes while they were at it, but the logic didn't seem to add up. And what did the map have to do with anything? "How?" she asked.

"Okay, please bear with me. I'm an alchemist. In my world, alchemy works as a science that involves channeling energy from the movement of tectonic plates. In this world, the plates are rearranged differently and that's why when I tried alchemy earlier it didn't work."

Ron looked beyond lost and even Hermione had to admit it didn't make a lot of sense. Maybe she was missing something. Some vital step. It was a feeling she was often experiencing when the armor boy spoke. "Where does the locket fit into this?"

"Alchemy is the science of breaking down matter and reconstructing it with its parts. Back at home, there was this man who stopped after the second step. If the locket needs to be destroyed, all I need to do it study its composition. Unless…wait, please tell me this world has the same elements."

Hermione raised an eyebrow and flipped through her encyclopedia until she found the appropriate page full of colorful boxes. She felt a wave nostalgia looking at it that reminded her of her science classes when she was younger. "Elements like these? I only went to a muggle primary school, so this stuff was only touched on briefly and wizards don't delve too far into the sciences, but…"

"Yes, that's the one!" he sounded absolutely ecstatic. Maybe he really was onto something. "If I know the locket's composition, I can try to do what that man did."

"And you're sure it'll work?"

"Well I've never really tried it personally, but it should. First I'll need to create new transmutation circles because mine don't seem to sync up with this world's tectonic energy."

"For that I'm guessing you'll need arms?" Sentences that sound strange out of context.

"Um…if you don't mind."

"Wait," Hermione stepped forward. "We still have no proof that he can be completely trusted."

Ron looked like he was about to start shouting, but Alphonse cut him off. "If you want, you could just return the arms and leave the legs. I won't be able to go far without those. And hopefully, I mean, once I prove that you can trust me, I'll get those back too."

Ron glanced at Hermione, who nodded slowly. "That sounds fair. Is there anything else you need, Alphonse?"

"Something to write with and a few pieces of paper would be great."

"Okay then. Let me just tell Harry first." She turned to head back to the bedroom. Well, this was going to be fun to explain.

_Forget Harry,_ said a little voice in her head. _How are you going to explain to the Order that you willingly accepted help from a horcrux, arguably the darkest form of illegal magic in existence? _

What if Harry was right and Alphonse was just tricking them? She didn't think that was the case, though. In fact, she was sure hat he would never intentionally hurt someone unprovoked.

"_Intentionally" being the key word, _reminded her inner paranoia. _Who knows what he's like if you get him angry? _

_But he seems so sweet_, she protested, trying not to dwell on the fact that she was having an argument with herself.

_And he might be the nicest guy in the world. He's still dangerous and unpredictable. It's not responsible to keep him around._

"Hermione," the armor called before she exited the room. She turned. "Thank you. I mean, for everything. I realize that it must be difficult to trust me with what you're going through and I really appreciate everything and plan to do all that I can to help. I mean, it's the least I could do, given what Ron did for me. Equivalent exchange, right?"

Hermione decided right then that, product of dark magic or not, she liked Alphonse Elric.

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**Now for my lovely reviewers: **

**krilavti: I know. Poor Alphonse.**

**Harrys_woman: I thought that for a while when I read the books too. One of the things I realized that I love about Fullmetal Alchemist is that the protagonists are just as lovable and well-developed as the background characters. I tried not make Harry too much of an asshole in this story. I don't want to spoil it, but I think that his later actions redeem him.**

**The_Awesome_Us: First of all, thank you. I glad you like my descriptions. The snatchers did not exclusively go after muggle borns and Ron was looking pretty suspicious in the middle of a forest with a suit of armor. They probably thought he was a runaway and could make some good money by bringing him in. **

**Ai_Jay: Thank you.**

**Kenzie Perth: Yep. At least he's finally gaining Hermione's trust now. **

**Unformal Sorrelle: Thanks. I don't think this chapter was so funny, but I plan on having funnier ones in the future.**

**Guest (1): Thank you.**

**Seven_Blazing_Skies: Good question. At this point in the story, the only horcruxes destroyed are the ring and the diary. They strongly suspect that Voldemort has an object from each of the Hogwarts founders but there's no way to know for sure. At this point, a talking inanimate object seems to be a good lead, even if it does not follow Dumbledore's train of logic. It's possible they think that Dumbledore was wrong about the suspected horcruxes. After all, in their minds Dumbledore made a mistake by trusting Snape. **

**Guest (2): Unfortunately, if I do put Ed in this story it will be at the end. I am writing another story, though, that very heavily focuses on him.**

**Full_Mental_Panic: Your reviews are always a pleasure to read. Thanks for pointing out the typo. It actually was written on purpose. I meant that Hermione said something and as a response Harry grunted but I guess the language was unclear, so I'm glad you let me know. I agree that Aaron Dismuke was a very good voice actor for Alphonse and I definitely prefer him to Maxey Whitehead (although she's pretty fantastic, too!) Philosophical issues will definitely come up again, especially now that you've voiced your love of them. I'm also in the process of writing an FMA story that involves Ed turning into a chimera, which is full of interesting psychological and philosophical concepts. **

**Child of Happiness: Thank you. I'm glad you like it.**

**Sincerely Sign The Painter: Well, it seems that he is. Thank you for reviewing like always.**

**urs-v: First of all, I want to thank you for being honest about what you thought. Constructive criticism helps writers improve their work. I tried to put a lot of detail into what may have been Harry and Hermione's motivation in this chapter. If you can pinpoint anything in particular about the style that irked you, feel free to let me know. Hopefully future chapters will be more to your taste!**

**chica_alter_ego: Thanks!**


	6. Chapter 6

It was truly an amazing sight to watch Alphonse Elric at work, Ron decided. The way the boy could concentrate for hours on end without once looking up, the delicate style with which he held the tiny pencil in his large, clunky hands, everything held the diligence and efficiency of a machine. Even watching Hermione cramming before exams was nothing compared to this.

After hours of coaxing, Harry had agreed with some reluctance to let Alphonse handle the horcrux on the condition that the group watch him in shifts of two at all times. It bothered Ron that even after everything Al had said that Harry still didn't trust the boy, but he did have to admit that he sort of had a point. Alphonse had been unwilling to share personal information with the group ever since mentioning the blood seal. The only new things about him that the group picked up were his inability to eat or sleep in his current form. (Even Harry admitted that had to be hell.) He didn't really seem interested in talking to them either. All he wanted to do was write his theorems. Harry spent the majority of his off-duty time sulking in his room. Ron was really starting to worry about his friend. He had seen Harry in moods before, but they never stretched out for this long.

That had been their routine for nearly a week now. Once Ron was finally well enough to apparate, they changed their camping locations and were now somewhere in Lake County, possible Grizedale Forest.

Ron was on his second shift with Hermione (she was reading that damn fairy tale book _again_ for clues even though Ron kept telling her that she'd never find anything useful) one day when he decided to voice the question that had constantly been irking him. He'd mentioned it once before, but Al hadn't answered.

"What does it feel like?"

For the first time in what had to be nearly five hours, Alphonse paused in his note-taking. The hesitation was brief, however, and the armor resumed working just as quickly as he had stopped, apparently ignoring the question. For a moment, Ron wondered if Al had heard him at all and if perhaps he had just imagined his reaction, but from the new ferocity that seemed to accompany Al's writing, Ron had a feeling that the question had gotten to him. He opened his mouth to inquire again, but the look Hermione shot him told him it was best to drop the subject.

Ron tried to imagine what it must have been like for Alphonse. (Contrary to Hermione's belief that he had the emotional range of a teaspoon, Ron did care about others.) It must have been terrifying, he decided. To be trapped in a strange world where your magic doesn't work with your friends and family relying on you back at home…the idea was unfathomable. Ron was sure that Alphonse must have been scared shitless when he saw him and snatchers attacking each other with bright jets of light. Alphonse would have been entitled—justified, even—to be wary of him and keep his distance. But instead the only thing he could care about was Ron's health. The redhead smiled fondly at the odd memory. Then he frowned again. _And how did I repay his kindness when my friends froze his body and interrogated him? I did nothing. No—worse than that. I _helped _them do it. _A knot began to form in his stomach and he wondered yet again why the boy was so willing to help them.

_There was nothing I_ could _have done,_ he reasoned. _The others were already pissed at me for leaving. I took a risk even bringing him to them._ The logic was sound, so then why did he still feel so guilty? It didn't make sense; _none _of it made sense. Alphonse spoke about equivalent exchange, and though Ron did not understand the concept entirely, he was pretty sure that services the boy was providing for them were not equivalent to the way they'd treated him. People were never that nice. People had ulterior motives. Alphonse had none. Why?

Ron groaned, clutching his aching head. There was a reason he preferred not to think too deeply about things. He always got a headache when he did.

Hearing the groan, the armor paused his work. "Are you okay?" asked Alphonse.

"Just dandy. How're those…um…theorems coming?"

"This ring is strange. I can't seem to figure out its composition."

Ron frowned. "I thought it was silver."

Al shook his head and continued to write out equations as he spoke. "There's some in it, but it's alloyed with something that I can't quite place. I wish my brother were here. He was always better at transmuting metals…Hermione, can I see the periodic table again, please?" She handed it to him and he nodded triumphantly. "Ah. Well, that explains it."

"What?"

"Apparently there are other differences in this world besides our tectonic plate movements."

"Hang on," said Hermione, looking very confused (and irritated with herself for being confused,) "I thought you said we have the same elements. When I showed the chart to you before it—"

Ron wasn't sure how Alphonse managed it, but the armor somehow looked sheepish. "Yeah...about that…I guess I wasn't looking closely enough. Our elements are the same in name but not all of the atomic masses are completely identical, which makes me think that our isotopes are ratios are slightly different. Come to think of it…I don't recognize all of the elements on this table, either. What's 'Lawrencium?'"

"That's one of the newer ones, I think," Hermione said, looking relieved to know something that Alphonse didn't. "I don't remember the exact year it was discovered, but…"

Alphonse was flipping through the pages of the encyclopedia in excitement. "People have _created_ elements in this world?! Hermione, this is amazing. Oh, I wish Brother could be here to see this." His mood seemed grow solemn once again as it often did at the mention of his brother. Ron saw Al's red orbs that were his eyes focused on an unspecific spot in the distance. It was amazing how expressive the boy could be without moving his face.

When he didn't say anything for a few seconds, Hermione cleared her throat. "Alphonse?"

"What? Oh sorry. I was just thinking of all the possibilities. This book doesn't seem to go into a lot of detail. It just mentions the bombarding of atoms. How is that even possible? What did they use?" Ron wasn't even trying to understand the content of the conversation at this point.

"I'm not sure of the exact method," Hermione admitted. "Chemistry has never really been my forte and like I said before, the wizard world doesn't put a lot of emphasis on the sciences. But what you're describing sounds pretty typical of encyclopedias. They serve as an overview but don't usually get too specific. That one is pretty old, too. I think it's from '73. It belonged to my dad. When used to go through it together when I was younger. It was one of the few things I grabbed when I…" her voice cracked and her eyes grew wet and shiny. Ron immediately ran to her side and put a hand on her shoulder. She was trembling. Oh Merlin, she was trembling. He desperately searched his mind for something to say.

"Is everything okay?" asked Al. His eyes moving from Ron to Hermione nervously. "Did I say something wrong?"

Hermione looked like she was trying very hard not to cry. Ron squeezed her shoulder and accioed a handkerchief from across the room. Alphonse gave a noticeable jolt at the sight of the object flying across the room, but that didn't concern Ron. The only thing that mattered was the whimpering girl in his arms—wait, when had she gotten there? Not that he was complaining or anything.

Alphonse, apparently sensing the mood, fell silent. Ron would have liked it if he left, but given the fact that the armor boy was currently lacking his legs he figured that he couldn't really be blamed for that.

Ron wasn't sure how long the two of them embraced, but when it was over Hermione's face was completely dry.

"Sorry about that. I hate falling apart in front of people," she said. Ron could tell that she was trying to disguise the shakiness in her voice. "My Mum and Dad are…"

"…Safe," Ron finished, "and that's what matters." She shot him a grateful look.

"I'm not going to pretend that I know what you're going through," said Al, "but I know how difficult it is to lose a parent. And while I am not familiar with your situation, from what I know about you, I am confident that everything will be fine in the long term. And if it helps to cry a bit, go ahead. I certainly won't think any less of you. The important thing is to keep moving in spite of past tragedies."

Hermione smiled. And…sweet Merlin...was she _blushing?_ Ron felt his cheeks become very hot. He'd just spent a good ten minutes comforting the girl he'd known since childhood and that legless tin can had just done more for her in a few words than he could do in hours! He knew it made no sense to be angry about such a thing. Hermione was feeling better and that was what mattered, right? So then why did he have the strong urge to knock a bludger into his head? (Not that it would do any real damage to the armor anyway, but _still_!)

"Do you have any books specifically on chemistry, then?" asked Al, returning to their previous topic. "It would help to get the best picture possible. If I'm going to redo my equations, I'd like to at least be accurate this time around."

Ah, at last: an excuse to be pissed. Ron raised his hand. "Wait, wait, _what?_ Hold on a bloody second! Who said anything about redoing equations? You've spent days on these and now you're saying that you have to _redo_ them all?"

Alphonse's shoulders sagged a bit. "Sorry. I wasn't thinking straight before. I should have looked more closely at your periodic table. I feel awful about this."

Hermione glared at Ron. "Don't mind him, Al. It's not your fault. You were doing your best."

Damn it. Now Hermione thought he was an insensitive jerk. Fantastic, just fantastic! He was losing her to someone who didn't even have a body. Was he really that pathetic? Sure, Alphonse was kinder, smarter, and stronger than him, but Hermione had known him for years. She didn't even know what the boy really looked like. It was ridiculous to think that she thought of Al as anything more than a friend.

…Right?

"I don't have any chemistry books with me right now. Maybe we could stop by a town and get some from a muggle bookshop." She bit her lower lip as she thought. Ron always thought she looked kind of cute when she did that.

"Is it out of your way? I don't want to make more trouble for you but if we can stop by a store that would be really helpful."

At last! An opportunity to prove himself. "You're wanted. They probably have pictures of your face everywhere," Ron pointed out. "So is Harry's. You shouldn't go out in public unless absolutely necessary even if it is just to a bookshop." He frowned at Alphonse. "You too, Al. I don't know much about muggle fashion, but I'm pretty sure there would be some confusion if you stepped into a store in that armor."

"So what are you suggesting?"

Ron straightened his posture, trying to look as confident as possible. "I could buy the books for Al. I'm not a fugitive; everyone's convinced I'm at home with splattergroit. 'Moine, you could just lend me some muggle money and I could…"

"Wait," Alphonse sounded incredibly confused. "You guys are fugitives?"

Ron looked to Hermione. "Uh…you wanna take this one?"

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**Ah, the emotional inconsistency of a teenage mind. **

**So Ron's going to try to pass for a muggle buying advanced scientific textbooks? What could possibly go wrong?**

**Okay, I'll admit it: this chapter is sort of a filler. I can't find my copy of Deathly Hallows and I usually use the book for reference so the plot did not progress too much so I used this one for character development instead. Hopefully things will start to pick up soon. **

**A cat called De: Thanks.**

**urs-v: That's fair. One of my weaknesses in writing is making things too dialogue-heavy. That was sort of intentional during that chapter, since it was Alphonse's perspective I couldn't really get into Harry or Hermione's head. I'm glad you liked the last chapter better.**

**chica_alter_ego: And stroke my ego, you did! Thank you for the bucketload of compliments. **

**Mew_Scarlet_Red_fox_8: Thank you. Interactions are always fun to write. Sadly, with my school schedule, I've only been able to update every few weeks.**

**Ai_Jay: Yeah. Al does not have the best luck in this story.**

** : Oh definitely. I agree that Harry's paranoia has a very fair basis. And I'm so glad you like my attempts to treat alchemy as a science. Hopefully they worked in this chapter too. **

**Harrys_woman: Honestly he's annoying me too, but I can't just have him change his mind without a good reason.**

**The_Awesome_Us: Harry has not been having a great year. He feels confused and conflicted because Dumbledore died without really giving him any useful information, he has to fulfill a legendary prophecy, and he's constantly getting migraines because he shares part of his mind with a psychotic murderer. In addition, he's overridden with guilt and is terrified of losing his friends. He'll warm up to Alphonse eventually, he just needs some time. Thank you for reading!**

**Vivianne: Thank you.**

**Keef_a_Mighty: Thanks.**

**Sincerely The Sign Painter: Thanks. I'm glad you like it.**

**Guest: And you would be correct. **

**Full_Mental_Panic: As always, your reviews are a pleasure to read. Good idea to incorporate Ron's strategic mindset. I didn't even think of doing that but I will definitely find a place to fit it in. Ron will continue to be a major player in this story. He is interesting to write when juxtaposed to Hermione because they're such different people.**

**wolf_wind_12345: Here it is.**

**luluhrh: Thanks for the review. I'm glad you're so enthusiastic about the story. **

**Kurama's Foxy Pride: It's true, there are not so many. I'm thrilled that you enjoy this.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello, everybody. This chapter is a bit different from the others, but hopefully you'll enjoy it anyway. Starting next chapter, the plot will pick up pace significantly.**

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If there was one thing that Phineas Nigellus Black learned in his seventy-eight years of life and his seventy-two years of death, it was that children were good-for-nothing, self-absorbed, greedy little bastards. Gryffindors were the worst sort and nobody ranked higher on Black's insolence list than that Potter boy and his vermin friends. Phineas didn't care what Dumbledore said; Potter was nothing but trouble and just like all members of his house, he held no respect for his elders.

While Potter was undoubtedly the worst of the bunch, his little mudblood friend came as a close second. It wasn't that he looked down upon her because of her heritage. As far as blood policies went, he was among the most liberal in his family. Phineas personally had no problem with the idea of giving muggle-borns a magical education. He was a reasonable man, after all. (Though he certainly saw no reason why individuals could not be proud of their magical blood heritage as well.)

Acceptance of muggle-born students had been one of his highest areas of priority as Headmaster of Hogwarts. At the time it had seemed like a wonderful idea; he had been convinced that the students brought up in muggle homes would be much better grounded and more appreciative of his work than the generation of brats his peers had reared in the magic world. Muggle-borns were the ideal cadets for remodeling wizard society: having been raised in a dark and magicless world, surely _they_ would be able to appreciate the beauty and artistry of witchcraft more than anybody, not to mention that they held no negative biases towards his beloved Slytherin house. Phineas had stepped through those Hogwarts doors in 1914 convinced of the infallibility of his plan. But as per usual, he had put too much faith in the younger generation. The mudbloods, ungrateful lowlifes that they were, didn't want to be treated as equals at all; they wanted to be coddled, given special privileges, and praised thoroughly for every damn spark that flew out of their wands.

Things only got worse from there, of course. Come the next year students were demanding that the school install a muggle broadcasting system so that they could hear the news of some war going on in their world. Ha, not in _his_ school! Phineas, being the wise man that he was, knew that the alien device ran on ee-lek-TRI-city and would therefore be incompatible with the magic that ran the school and if they thought they could create a better system, then they could waste their time on non-school hours. And how had the children responded when he tried to enlighten them from their ignorant states? They threatened mutiny! It was like nothing Phineas had ever seen before: left and right seventh years began dropping out of Hogwarts to join the _muggle _army (he actually heard that years later one of the little skrewts managed to create a broadcasting device that ran on magic—the smug little piece of hippogriff droppings.) And even after the war ended, students continued to leave the school in order to help support their families who were apparently having some financial difficulties—the _nerve_!

And during the years as a hanging portrait, he saw little to no improvement in Hogwarts's youth. Every pureblood walked in convinced that he would be the next Minister of Magic and every muggle-born thinking that he could rewrite the school's curriculum to suit his needs. Even his own house had been reduced to nothing but a bunch of self-entitled fools. Nowadays, Phineas mostly slept to pass the time. If he ever watched the students for extended durations, the situation became too disheartening to endure.

On occasion Phineas would come across a child who seemed different from the rest, more put-together and disciplined. Unfortunately, though, his hopes always proved to be for naught when the student quickly became assimilated with the rest of the narcissists. Sometimes he wondered if it was better that Sirius* never made it to that school in the long run.

That was just what Phineas had been explaining to the portrait of Heliotrope Wilkins when he felt a familiar tug on his conscious followed by an abrupt cutoff of his eyesight.

_Speaking of the devil…_

Hermione Granger, strangely enough, had been one of the anticipated exceptions. She was bright, focused, and the first muggle-born in ages who hadn't complained about the use of feather quills in school—yes, he KNEW it was impractical, but it was_ tradition_, dammit!—but soon enough, she had bought into her house's anti-Slytherin propaganda and soon afterwards gave up her independence and ambition to Potter and his despicable ginger sidekick.

He couldn't see his surroundings, but Phineas knew that he had changed frames. He could he hear the distinct pecking sound of a spotted woodpecker, so he assumed that they were in some wooded area, but that was all he could determine about the location.

"Hello, Professor Black," the Mudblood said with false pleasantness, "how are you doing today?"

"Perfectly well until you came along," he grumbled, not daring to express his relief at the change in routine. Life in the castle grew rather dull after seventy-two years, after all.

"Sorry to bother you, but—"

"Actually, not that sorry at all," another voice cut in. Potter.

_How rude,_ thought Phineas. If they were going to continue treating him like this, then maybe he would just return to castle. It wasn't his job to help them. He had better things to do with his time. What exactly those things _were_ he did not know, but he was sure he could come up with something eventually.

"What…what is that?!" a voice squeaked, catching Phineas by surprise. The voice was high-pitched, but undeniably male and there was something else strange about it that the former headmaster could not quite place.

"Right, sorry, Alphonse. Professor Black, this is our friend, Alphonse. Alphonse, this is Professor Black."

Alphonse let out a terrified little squeak. "I…I don't understand. It's a painting! How does it communicate?" He gasped. "Is Professor Black…like _me_?"

The mudblood quickly tried to explain to the boy that he was an enchanted portrait of a deceased person and could communicate as he could during his lifetime. A gross oversimplification, definitely, but at least she knew her stuff.

Phineas didn't have the faintest idea what the boy—Alphonse's—comment supposedly meant, but he knew that all wizard children grew up with enchanted paintings in their homes. If the child didn't recognize him for what he was, then that could only mean one thing…

"You're a muggle?!" he exclaimed, unable to hide the surprise in his voice. _Perhaps I shouldn't jump to conclusions too quickly,_ Phineas thought. Maybe the boy was simply a muggle-born that they had been hiding from the Dark Lord. The action would be foolish, but definitely within the Gryffindor realm of behavior.

After he was given his explanation, Alphonse seemed to calm down quite a bit. "I apologize for my outburst, Professor," he said, sounding genuinely remorseful. "I'm very sorry that you had to go through this, Sir. And to answer your question, yes, I am a muggle."

"He's been cursed," the mudblood tried to explain.

_Cursed?_ Now that was certainly interesting. What kind of dark wizard would curse a muggle and let him live rather than just killing him? Perhaps Potter and the mudblood had saved this Alphonse from near death. _But would they really be idiotic enough to put themselves between a Death Eater and his target? Why am I asking these questions? Of COURSE they would. They're Gryffindors, after all. They're all the same, that lot._

The mudblood and Potter then began their customary prodding into affairs that did not concern them. Specifically, the state of Hogwarts and how all of their delinquent friends were fairing. The teens started out civil enough, but they quickly began to lose their patience when Phineas chastised them for disrespecting the school's headmaster. He was about to leave and return to his main frame when a little voice spoke up: Alphonse.

"Um…Professor Black? If it's all right with you, may I ask you a few questions? You don't have to answer them if you don't want to," he added quickly.

"Alphonse, I'm not sure that would be such a good—"

"Please, Hermione. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important." Reserved, respectful, but not cowardly. Muggle or not, Phineas was starting to like this boy.

But the mudblood was insistent. "Alphonse, I don't think that Professor Black would want to—"

"Don't speak for me, girl," he sneered. "I'll decide for myself if these questions are worth answering."

"Thank you, Sir. I really appreciate it."

Phineas hurumphed.

He didn't know what exactly he was expecting from the boy, but he certainly didn't receive it. Alphonse's questions weren't about Hogwarts at all: they were about_ him_. Phineas Nigellus Black. The muggle child, it seemed, had taken a genuine interest in his well being. He inquired about Phineas's daily life, comfort level, and awareness of his surroundings. Phineas forgave the boy's ignorance in the case of the last one and explained that the portraits of Hogwarts Headmasters had a much greater presence and level of sentience than the average magical portrait.

"How much do you remember of your life?"

"Almost all of it. Like I said, I was made by the best enchanters."

"Do you…do you miss anything about it?"

Now the boy was getting a little too personal. Of _course_ he missed things. Phineas could barely remember what it felt like to stroke the fur of his hounds and the taste of brandy was hardly more than a distant memory at this point. He had no doubt that the portraits of his fellow headmasters experienced similar thoughts. But it was never discussed amongst them; by accepting their role as headmaster they had agreed partake in all of its duties including having a part of their souls remain forever in the school after their deaths. He knew what he was getting into, so it was no use complaining. Phineas Black was many things, but he was not a man to go back on his word.

Did he wish he could change his decision at times? Definitely. But there was nothing he could do about it now. Besides, this boy didn't need to know any of his personal anguishes. "No. I have no regrets."

"That's good to hear."

Phineas didn't really care that he had broken the International Statute of Secrecy by relaying information—the kid clearly knew about the magic world and whatever he did with that knowledge was his problem.

"So, do you think that if _I _painted a portrait of someone I knew, that I would be able to communicate with them?"

"Hmm…you would need a very skilled witch or wizard to charm the painting, but I don't see why not. It wouldn't be to the extent of having the person around, though. It would just be an imprint."

"I understand."

"It would also have to be a picture of a living person. The dead have already left their imprint on this world."

"Oh," Alphonse sounded disappointed.

Not sure why he was bothering to ask, Phineas said, "Did you have a deceased individual in mind?"

"Yes, I did," the voice sounded so sad and pitiful that even Phineas couldn't help but grow a bit uncomfortable. Normally he couldn't be bothered by the whines of children, but there was something different about this one. It was something in his voice that stood out as oddly familiar. Once again it occurred to Phineas just how young Alphonse sounded.

"But then…then I could still make a painting of a still living person, right?"

There was so much hope in that voice and at the same time it had a forlorn undertone that it tried desperately to mask. Where had he heard a voice like that before?

It occurred to him Alphonse must have been waiting for a response. "Of course, boy, weren't you listening before?"

Alphonse let out a little squeal of joy that normally would have made Phineas roll his eyes in disgust. When the mysterious boy spoke again, he seemed to be talking to himself. "Then…then I could talk to Brother…"

_Brother._ Now Phineas knew where he recognized the voice. Of course. The brats at Hogwarts were too old to sound so innocent. Phineas opened his mouth to say something—to warn the boy of what he was about to get into—but he was cut off by a high-pitched scream from the mudblood. Phineas covered his ears. "Do you mind? I am _trying _to have a conversation."

"What is that?" asked Alphonse, presumably referring to whatever initiated the girl's reaction.

"A patronus. It's _Ron's_." the girl's voice sounded frantic. Phineas would have been concerned for her safety had he actually given a damn about her. "What could have possibly happened in such a short time? We just sent him out to get books! Harry, start packing. We might need to change locations immediately!"

"Let's hear what it has to say first, Hermione. Maybe…maybe it's not so bad."

"He wouldn't send a patronus if it wasn't an emergency," her voice was shaking now. "Still, I agree; we should listen to what it has to say first."

Apparently, they had forgotten about his presence in all the chaos. Phineas decided to use this mishap to his advantage. Unfortunately, the mudblood's obscuration spell was rather strong as he was still unable to remove the blindfold. If he could just get a glimpse of their location…

"What's a—"

A voice cut Alphonse off. It sounded like the third brat who had been with Potter and the mudblood last time. "At the elephant house…Death Eaters everywhere…get…AHH! BLOODY HELL!" the message abruptly ended.

"Good news, then?" Phineas couldn't help but add snidely.

* * *

**Author's Notes: Huh, magical paintings? Maybe Ed will work his way into this story after all.**

**Don't worry, folks. The next chapter will backtrack a bit so that we can see why Ron sent his patronus. I admit that it's a little far fetched to believe that he knows how to use his to send messages, but it's not completely out of the realm of possibility.**

***The Sirius in question is NOT Harry's Godfather. According to the Black Family Tree, the Sirius we know from the series is really Sirius III. Sirius Black I was Phineas's older brother who died at age eight. Although probably not done intentionally, this might explain some of Phineas's general bitterness.**

**Phineas may or may not be returning in this story depending on the feedback I receive.**

**urs-v: Thanks. Glad to hear it. **

**Ambiguity in D Major: Ha. Well, we'll see how it goes over in the next chapter. There will definitely be miscommunication. **

**Sincerely The Sign Painter: Yep. He's feeling a whirlwind of emotions right now and few of them have logic behind them. It's also known as being a teenager.**

**Ai_Jay: Ron is a surprisingly developed character and I didn't appreciate his role in the books for a long time. I've also always had a soft spot for the comic reliefs. Glad you like the story.**

**Keef_a_Mighty: If all goes well with Al's portrait painting, Ed's presence will enter the story, but only in a limited fashion.**

**Guest: Thank you.**

**Suzululu_4_moe: The point is that the motion was awkward because Ron didn't really know what he was doing. Ron may not be the touchy feely type, but he does care about his friends so a rough attempt to sooth Hermione strikes me as completely believable. **

**Miss_Moe: Thanks.**

**Full_Mental_Panic: The isotopes are not a big difference and it only exists in some elements (major biological elements like carbon are the same.) ****I just think that even if the mass was even a bit off it would mess up the equations...but mostly I needed a reason for Ron to leave the camp so the plot could develop. I do agree that some suspension of disbelief is needed. I'm not sure if he would have to figure out a magical component. I feel like magic is mostly just energy, not matter, so probably not. As for the break with Hermione's parents, it was briefly touched upon in book 7 that she used a complex memory charm to make them change their names, forget her existence, and move to Australia. And while Ron may not always be the most sympathetic person in the world, he does understand the value of family.**

**juniper_lei: Thank you.**

**Harrys_woman: True...but it would definitely get immediate results! **


	8. Chapter 8

Several Hours Earlier…

"Edinburgh? Why Edinburgh?"

Hermione shrugged. "Honestly, I don't really know. It was the first place that came to mind. I used to visit a few times a year to see my granddad." She handed Ron his jumper and watched with a nervous expression on her face as he pulled it over his head. "You sure you're okay with this? You don't have to do this if you don't want to."

"'M fine," he grunted. "Alphonse says he needs books, so I'll get him some books. I don't see the problem here."

"There's no problem. I just want you to be careful. If we had more time, I could whip up and polyjuice potion and go with you. What about the currency? Should we go over it one last time?"

Ron waved his hand dismissively. He was growing sick of Hermione's doting. "One hundred pence to a pound and all that. Dad took me to a muggle shop, before. Don't worry about me. I know how it all works." He purposely left out the part where he and Arthur were kicked_ out _of the shop.

"That's right." She took a deep breath and Ron knew that he was in for a lecture. "Now, you have just over a thousand pounds before that credit card runs out—about ten times the amount you'll need, but it's all together so there's not much I can do about that. If you want, you can buy something for your dad from one of the shops. The knapsack I gave you has an undetectable extension charm on it like my beaded bag, but not quite as powerful. And while you're gone, get us some decent food, will you?" She bit her lip. "Is that too much for you? Do you want me to write it down?"

"No. I got it all." He chuckled at her nervous expression, trying not to be offended by how little faith she apparently had in him—or at least his short term memory. "Really, it'll be fine. Don't worry. No death eaters have been spotted in the area and the closest thing they have to a magical community is Sir Tomkins &amp; Co."

Hermione smiled. "Yeah. You're probably right. I don't know what I'm getting all worked up about." She leaned forward and before Ron had a chance to realize what she was doing, wrapped her arms around him in a hug. "Good luck."

Ron pulled away awkwardly. His eyes scanned the room, wanting to look at something—_anything_—other than her. "Um…thanks. Two miles to town, you said?"

"Two miles," Hermione confirmed. She was rubbing her hands together like it was cold. "But don't say 'miles' in front of muggles. Only Americans say miles. If someone catches you saying it by mistake, say you're a university student who just got back from a year abroad in the States and you're still readjusting to the dialect. If you run out of things to say, talk about Angus Buchanan's career in rugby, got it?"

Ron grinned and nodded. She really _had _thought of everything.

Alphonse looked at the two curiously. "What's rugby?" he asked.

"It's a muggle sport," Hermione explained. "Normally wizards don't take much interest in them, but some squib became really famous playing it and now there's a whole organization of wizards who support the game. A squib is a—"

"—Muggle from a magical family who usually have cats. I remember. But I thought wizards don't like them very much because they grow bitter and are ostracized from society." At this point he had returned to his equation writing and Ron had been sure that he was tuning Hermione out until he interrupted.

Ron scratched his head awkwardly. He shouldn't have been surprised that Alphonse had a near perfect memory. Damn. He was really going to have to watch what he said from now on.

Despite knowing he had pretty much lost, Ron felt the need to defend his position. "Well, yeah, that's because they're usually terrible. Buchanan was different thought because…because he was, like, a _really_ good rugby player."

"I don't see the correlation."

"Stop bothering Alphonse," Hermione suggested, earning an incredulous look from her friend.

"I wasn't 'bothering' him! We were having a _conversation_. Blimey!"

Hermione ignored him. "Is there anything else you'll be needing, Al?"

Alphonse didn't look up from his intricate circle and Hermione had to call is name louder and repeat the question. "Um…some more paper and pens would be nice—preferably colorful ones. They're good for organizing work."

"Fine. You got that, Ron?"

"Yeah, yeah."

_How did I get myself into this?_ Ron wondered miserably.

"Can Ah help ye?"

Ron then realized that he had been staring blankly at the woman at the bookshop. "You work here, right?"

The woman rolled her eyes. "Nae. Aam jist sittin' at th' front desk fur fin."

"…Huh?"

"Dae ye need somethin' ur nae coz if ye huvnae noticed, there's a line behin' ye." She frowned when he didn't respond. "Come oan, lad, speak. What's th' matter? Ye deaf ur somethin'?"

"What?"

"Ah dornt hae time fur thes. Either say whit yoo're lookin' fur ur gonnae-no botherin' me."

Ron shook his head. Of course it was just his luck to get stuck with the world's most incoherent Scottish lady. "I don't understand a word you are saying. I…I just came here to get some books on chemistry and tectonic plate movement."

"Weel, wa dinae ye say sae earlier? Robert will shaw ye uir science collection. Rabbie, gie yer crease ower haur!"

A very tired-looking employee made his way over to the desk. "Yes, Matilda?"

"Thes loon is lookin' fur books oan chemistry an' seismic activity. Help heem out, will ye?" Ron was pretty sure that he saw fleck of Matilda's spit land on Robert's face.

"But…I'm off fer lunch," the man whined in a much more understandable voice.

"Nae anymair, yoo're nae."

Robert sighed. "Fine. Come on, lad. Let's find what yer lookin' fer."

Ron shot the man an apologetic smile. Anyone who had to put up with that lady must have been pretty desperate for a job. "Sorry. I'd ask her to help me instead, but I can't understand what she was saying."

"Nobody can," Robert replied. "Chemistry, huh? Is it yer major in uni or somethin'?"

_Uni? What the hell is uni? Okay. Calm down, Ron. Act casual._ Ron shoved his hands into the pockets of his jumper—unknowingly pulling the most overdone "act casual" cliché in the book. "Uh…no. I'm just getting some things for a friend. The bloke's into the really advanced stuff. He's working on his own theorems and crap." Robert grunted, indicating that the redhead should follow him. "So…" Ron drawled, not knowing when to keep his mouth shut. "How about those rugby players?

"How about ye stop talkin'?"

Ron pouted but complied as he was taken to the back of the shop where all the heavy volumes seemed to be kept. He approached the section under "chemistry" and groaned. How would he know which books to get? He wished Alphonse could have been more specific—although, judging from what the armor boy had requested, it sounded like he wasn't quite sure what he wanted either. _Fantastic. Just fantastic. _He opted to just grab the books that looked the most complicated.

Feeling satisfied with his decision, Ron approached the front desk with a pile of volumes that stacked over his head. The lady then proceeded to yell something that Ron did not understand but after a combination of expressions and frantic gestures, he was able to pay for the books and leave the shop, at this point convinced that Matilda purposely made herself impossible to understand for the sake of annoying tourists.

Ron waited until he was sure that nobody was looking before he shoved the books into his knapsack. Instantly, his burden disappeared and the knapsack was no worse for wear. _Genius. That girl is a bloody genius. _

"How did you do that?"

Ron jumped and spun around, coming face to face with a girl who couldn't have been older than five. Her long blond hair was pulled back in a plait and her index finger was pointing at him accusingly.

_Relax. She's just a kid. Maybe you can convince her that she didn't see anything._ Ron crossed his arms and leaned against the wall of the building to show how cool he was. "How did I do what, exactly?"

The girl furrowed her brow, evidently trying to describe what she had seen in her limited five-year-old vocabulary. "The books…you put them in your bag. But your bag is small…and your books are big. _Really_ big." She spread her arms wide to indicate just how big. "Bigger than the knapsack."

Ron just shrugged. "The bag is bigger than it looks."

"Oh." The girl put her finger in her mouth and shifted her gaze to the ground.

"Um…where are your mum and dad?"

Without warning, the child burst into a fit of hysterical tears. "I…I don't KNOW!" she wailed. "I…I saw a puppy and I went to go pet it and when I came back, Mummy was gone!"

_ Oh great. Now people are staring. Damn it. Why do lost muggle children keep find you? _"Taking down Voldemort will be a walk in the park after all this. At least his intentions are clear," he muttered under his breath. Turning to the girl he said, "We'll find her, don't worry. I'm Ron Weasley. What's your name?"

The girl looked up from the ground. "Jessica. Mummy says I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."

"Well, you had no problem talking to me when it was about the amount of room in my bag. Never mind. Let's go."

She took his hand. "Where are we going?"

"To look for your mum, of course. Do you come here often? Where does she usually go?"

"Dunno."

_Wow. Helpful. _"We'll just ask around, then." Honestly, Ron didn't mind it that much. It felt good to finally get out of that stupid tent and be near civilization. Plus, it was nice to finally be looked at as the "adult" in a situation.

Finding the girl's mother wasn't too hard in the end. It took about forty minutes of wandering and asking strangers, but the pair eventually tracked her down to a little café near George IV Bridge with a rather strange name.

"'The Elephant House,'" Ron read out loud from the sign on the red building.

Jessica gave him a toothy grin. "Yep. But Mummy says there aren't actually any elephants here." Her eyes widened and she pointed to a blond woman sitting in the café. "There she is! MUMMY!" arm spread out wide, she tackled the woman in an enthusiastic hug. When was the last time he hugged his mother? Ron wondered. And more importantly, would he ever get another chance?

"Jessica, thank god! I was so worried. Don't you ever do that again, do you hear?" the voice was harsh, but the hug was returned.

Ron was about to walk away a leave the two to their intimate moment when he felt a tug on his sleeve and found Jessica beaming at him. "This is him, Mummy! This is Ron Wesley, the boy who found you."

"It's Weasley," he corrected automatically. "And it was no problem, really."

"Thank you very much, Mr. Weasley," said Jessica's mother. "I honestly can't tell you how much I appreciate it."

"It was nothing," he insisted, turning once again to leave.

Then he heard a shriek. A terrible, ear-piercing sound from his right as figures in black cloaks popped up all around: Death Eaters. The screaming continued, this time at a higher frequency.

Before Ron even had a chance to reach for his wand, something hit him with the force of a blow to the testicles. He crumpled to the ground and black spots danced in front of his eyes.

People were screaming all around him. Ron attempted to sit up and was promptly met with a sharp stabbing of pain in his temple. He tried to grit his teeth and bear it, but the pain only grew worse.

Something dropped onto the ground next to him. A dead muggle, Ron's mind determined, still in too much shock to be properly horrified. How could this have happened? Then it hit him: the taboo. He had said Voldemort's name earlier. If the rumors were true, that meant the Death Eaters were able to trace the utterance back to its source. He had completely forgotten!

Out of the corner of his eye Ron made out Jessica and her mother duck behind an overturned table in an attempt to dodge the seemingly endless spew of curses. This was all his fault. And now because of him all of these people would die.

_No._ No he wasn't going to let that happen. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, the fiery redhead got to his feet and stumbled over to the nearest Death Eater, knocking him out with a well-placed hex. Lost in the bliss of victory, he failed to notice another Death Eater creep up behind him.

_ "Expulso!"_

Ron didn't even have time to process the fact that he was hit until he found himself flying towards the café wall at terrifying speed. He was pretty sure that he blacked out for at least a couple of minutes because when he opened his eyes the place was practically in ruins. Ron counted at least four bodies on the ground but his vision was too blurry to make out any features. Were the girl and her mother safe? Ron felt a lump in his throat.

He tried—foolishly—to get to his feet but the wave of vertigo and blast of white-hot pain made it clear that was not going to happen. At lest nobody was targeting him currently. Maybe the Death Eaters had left him for dead.

_I have to do something_, he realized. What was it his dad had shown him that summer? The way the Order communicated long distances. It was the patronus! Yes, the patronus!

…But how the hell was he supposed to conjure a patronus in this mess?

_Focus, Ronald, focus. _Ron thought about Harry and Hermione and how they were going to destroy all the horcruxes and kick the Death Eaters' arses. He pictured the sweet and trusting Alphonse, who had already entrusted so much in them.

_"Expecto patronum." _

Ron swore quietly when all he managed to conjure up was a bit of silvery mist. Luckily none of the Death Eaters seemed to notice.

He thought back earlier to his third year when he was given a pet owl from a runaway convict. His second year when he and Harry saved his little sister's life by accessing an ancient chamber in the school. Then he pictured simpler memories: laughing with his friends. Grinning in delight at the majesty of his brothers' joke shop.

He thought back to the first train ride back in '91 when he first met The Boy Who Lived and they shared a pack of sweets. And then later, when Harry had turned down Malfoy's friendship for insulting him. As one of the youngest in his family, Ron had often grown up taking the blame. This had been the first time anyone had ever done something like that for him.

"Travers, look at that one. He's moving!"

"Fool! You're not supposed to call me by name."

"Oh, who cares? It's not like anyone here will make it out alive to spread the word." The few muggles remaining whimpered in fear.

Ron was vaguely aware of the masked men closing in on him, but he couldn't bring himself to care. The redhead was grinning like a madman and he only laughed as he narrowly dodged a slew of curses.

_"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"_

A Jack Russell Terrier sprang out of his wand and the front Death Eater took a step back in surprise.

The product was beautiful, but it had taken a lot out of him. Ron could do nothing as a curse hit him and his knees buckled, causing him to fall to the ground.

So that was it. It was all in vain. He was going to d—what in Merlin's pants was that lady doing?!

It was Jessica's mother. Though her face was pale and dripping with sweat, she was dragging Ron out the back of the café as her daughter clung tightly to her hand. Amazingly, the patronus—though considerably dimmed—was trotting alongside them.

They exited in an alley and after a few seconds, Ron was able to sit up groggily. He searched his mind but fortunately was able to recall the spell for message sending.

"What's…what's goin' on? Mummy, why are those people—"

"Shh. Be quiet now, Jessica, love. Mummy's got you."

Ron turned to them. "The two of you really should get out of here. It's not safe."

The woman bit her lip. "But the café…there were other people inside…"

Oh shit, she was right!

"I'll deal with them. Right now, I'm going to need the two of you to stand still." He pulled out his wand. Incredibly—most likely too shocked to really think about what they were doing—they listened. "This won't hurt…"

The mother, apparently gathering her senses and recognizing Ron's wand as the same weapon that killed her friends and tortured her daughter, cried out, "Wait, what are you doing?"

"I can't let you remember what happened in there. Like I said, it won't hurt or anything, I'm just going to…"

The memory of Alphonse's horror chose that moment to resurface. _"_Only_ erase my memories? What do you mean 'only'? That's not the kind of thing you say only about!"_

_No!_ Ron screamed mentally_. I can't dwell on this now. Besides…it's for their own good. They're in danger._

_ "Don't they have a right to know if they're in danger?"_

Ron sighed and lowered his wand. He turned to Jessica. "Do you want to see something cool?" The little girl nodded and Ron turned to the patronus.

He peered through the shop's window so that he could get an accurate picture of what was going on. Unfortunately, Travers chose that moment to glance at the window. Ron ducked away and began talking frantically to his patronus. "At the elephant house…Death Eaters everywhere…get…AHH! BLOODY HELL!" The back door burst open, along with half a dozen Death Eaters.

He turned to Jessica and her mother. "I suggest you run."

Not wasting a second, Joanne Rowling grabbed her daughter and ran like hell.

* * *

**There will be more Alphonse in the next chapter, I promise. **

**The_Awesome_Us: I would imagine that in order to draw transmutation circles, he would have to have a steady hand.**

**urs-v: Awesome! Glad you like it. **

**Kurama's Foxy Rose: Okay. I'll try to work him in. I agree, he's pretty cool.**

**Kenzie Perth: Yeah. I had so much fun writing his character that I may actually do a separate story that just focuses on him being headmaster throughout different major events in muggle history.**

**chica_alter_ego: It will definitely be interesting, I can tell you that. **

**Starlit Skyline: Thank you so much. I'm thrilled that so many people liked my portrayal of him. **

**Rotom_knight: I will do what I can to include more of him in future. I just don't want it to seem forced.**

**Guest: He does have sass.**

**Literature Work: Terrible puns for the win!**

**Ai_Jay: Thank you.**

**Harrys_woman: I know. He's going to have to rethink his whole philosophy about disrespectful youth.**


	9. Chapter 9

**A bit of a short chapter, but a crucial one.**

* * *

Harry Potter's worst fear had come true: he had decided to work with Alphonse, and now one of his best friends was in danger. He should have never let Ron go out to buy those stupid books. This mess was all his fault and he needed to go out and correct it.

"No." Hermione's tone was flat and left no room for argument.

Harry didn't care. "What do you mean 'no?'"

"I mean that you're not going out to get him. Your life is too valuable to risk." He snorted and waved his hand dismissively. "No, listen to me," she continued, "right now you are impulsive and out of practice. You've been in bed with a fever all week, you're not thinking straight—"

"_You're_ the one who's not thinking straight!" Harry growled, the sudden volume in his voice catching even Alphonse by surprise (why the hell were they allowing the horcrux in the room with them, anyway?) "Ron's in danger, Hermione. And every second we waste arguing, he could be dying. Who cares if I'm a little sick?"

"And do you think that I'm any less capable of helping him than you are?"

"No! What I'm saying is that I have a responsibility to go after him. This is _my _burden to carry, Hermione. Not yours." What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she see the sense in what he was saying? They didn't have time for this, dammit!

Hermione stomped her foot on the ground and fixed her eyes on Harry with a look of pure poison. "Not everything is about you. It's_ my _burden too. Do you think I didn't know what I signed up for this year? Are you under the impression that I don't realize this is life-threatening? I have the same responsibility as you. The only difference is that I don't have a prophe—"

"I WON'T LET ANYONE ELSE DIE BECAUSE OF ME!" The words came out uncharacteristically shrill and Harry grimaced when he caught sight of his friend's terrified expression. He inhaled sharply. "Look," he said with as much calmness as he could muster at that moment, "I need you to guard the tent. If Ron and I don't return by nightfall, you know what to do."

The suit of armor tentatively raised a hand. "I think that if anyone should go out there, it should be me. It's my fault he's in danger, anyway. And besides, your sticks don't affect me unless they hit my bloodseal."

"So you think that we're suddenly go to trust you?"

"No. I'm asking you to take a small risk that will almost certainly play out in your favor…uh, Hermione? Why are you looking at me like that?"

Harry turned around. The bookworm was studying Alfonse with a scrutinizing expression on her face and a sly gleam in her eyes that was more than a little unsettling.

"'Mione, what is it?"

The bushy-haired girl looked at the two and grinned widely. "I think I have an idea."

* * *

"This is…really weird."

"I'm not enjoying this anymore than you are," Harry grunted from inside of the armor. "I mean, this whole situation seems oddly, I dunno…_sexual_."

A shudder of horror went through the suit. Alphonse hadn't thought of it like that when Martel was inside of him, but now that Harry brought it up…well, it _was _a person wearing another person. "Ugh. Stop." If he were human, Alphonse would've definitely gagged. The echoing sounds of Harry's amused laughter only made the situation worse.

"I'm only joking," the British boy assured him.

"I…I know that! It's just not funny. It's…ugh…so….gross! Why would you even bring that up?" Alphonse suspected his feelings of repulsion had to do with the fact that he hadn't exactly gone through puberty. His voice was still high-pitched and whatever form of him living at the Gate certainly wasn't experiencing normal hormonal development. Sure, he was mature beyond his fourteen years, spent most of his time around adults, and knew the human body inside and out, but none of that changed the fact that sex was icky.

Also, having a person inside of him just felt plain wrong. He couldn't exactly _feel_ Harry per se, the closest comparison was like an itch he couldn't get rid of. But it was the psychological implications of someone so close to his bloodseal that bothered him more—although the seventeen-year-old's joke about their apparent intimacy definitely hadn't made Alphonse feel any better about the situation. He felt awkward, vulnerable, and incredibly creeped-out. Although, admittedly, it was nice to finally have his legs back.

Harry knocked on him from the inside of his chest plate to get his attention. Al really wished he'd stop doing that. "Hey, hurry up. Ron could be dying!" Did Harry really think he didn't know that? Al, however, complied and increased his speed. "Ow!" Harry complained as his head smashed against the metal interior. "Not_ that _fast!"

"No, you were right. We can't keep up this speed if we want to have a realistic chance of getting to Ron. Just brace yourself."

Harry groaned, but didn't argue. They continued to run for several more minutes. "Why did I agree to this again?"

"Because we both care about Ron's safety and you going inside of me was the most practical choice for everyone. This way we can rescue Ron, you don't get hit by any spells, and I can finally prove to you that I'm trustworthy." _Also, being within reach of my bloodseal was the only way you'd ever let me out of the tent._

"Oh yeah."

Navigating through the city was much more difficult than Al had originally assumed it would be. Those super fast cars seemed to be all over the place and they would come speeding out of absolutely nowhere! Al counted four times so far that he had nearly been hit. Even the busiest intersection in Central couldn't compare to this. And it wasn't just cars—bicycles, motorcycles, and scooters, not mention strange-looking boards with wheels—everything in Edinburgh seemed positively determined to slow down his progress. It was all so futuristic and alien to the armored teen.

Alphonse tried to ignore the strange looks he kept getting from random pedestrians. The sight must have looked ridiculous, after all: a seven-foot-tall tall man in a suit of antique armor arguing with himself in a childish voice. Although to be fair, some of the people were doing things that made Alphonse want to stop and gape at. Despite the mild weather, children his own age passed by wearing shiny earmuffs. Adults shouted into what appeared to be some sort of telephone without a chord. And all around him Al heard words that sounded like nonsense: Television, Pokémon, Furby, Tamagotchi, McDonalds, _The Simpsons_, email, pager, Nintendo, MP3s, _Nirvana_, Barbie, Doritos, and the World Wide Web. It was almost like he was in a whole different…oh wait.

He stopped short when a loud wailing sound filled the air. "What's that?"

"Those are sirens. I bet they're the muggle authorities trying to crack down on the Death Eaters. Can you follow them?"

"Yeah. Hold on."

* * *

In retrospect, running _towards_ the people trying to kill him while already on the verge of passing out from exhaustion was not one of Ron Weasley's best plans. But it was too late to turn back now. He had promised Jessica's mother that he would save the people back in the café.

"Honestly, Ronald, of all the idiotic ideas you've ever had," he mumbled to himself, "this one…exceeds at least three!" As he chuckled quietly to himself at his bitter attempt at humor, Ron noticed how hollow and hoarse his voice sounded and it occurred to him with disturbing clarity that he might actually die. Sure, this wouldn't be the first time he'd experienced such a feeling—on his seventeenth birthday Ron had been positive he was a goner, or at least in his few hazy memories of the actual poisoning. Looking back further, Ron recalled numerous events—some more clearly than others—where his immediate life had been in jepardy. Images of Devil's Snare, brains wrapping around his arms, and Sirius Black coming at him with a knife flashed through his mind. Hell, he'd looked death right in the face during that freakish chess game in his first year without a second thought. _But those times were different,_ he realized. _This time you're alone._

He could turn back now if he wanted. He could look the other way and run for his life. That would be the smart way of action. The logical one. But now wasn't the time for logical decisions. If he didn't act now these people would _die. _

_People who wouldn't even_ be _in danger in the first place if it wasn't for me, _Ron realized with no small amount of guilt. It was his right—no, his _responsibility_—to protect them. With that thought in mind, he charged into the café, wand at the ready and prepared to give those damn Death Eaters everything he had

…And then a beam of pink light hit him straight in the chest.

Ron hadn't heard the incantation and he couldn't think of a single spell that gave off a pink glow, but anything that came from a Death Eater couldn't be good. Ron expected to die, lose consciousness, or at least feel excruciating pain. Instead, he felt, well, nothing…at least right away. After a few seconds, there was a slight tugging feeling in his abdomen, but no pain. Ron didn't wait to find out if there would be, he aimed his wand at the closest skull mask to him. The Gryffindor didn't bother to wonder why the man, who clearly saw him running, took no noticeable action to stop his approach.

"PETRIFICU—ARRGHH!" Ron fell over as the pain suddenly quadrupled in intensity. The agony was swiftly followed by the most powerful wave of nausea the redhead had ever experienced in his life. For a few seconds Ron genuinely feared that he was in danger of throwing up his internal organs if dared to so much as open his mouth. The feeling only lasted a short while, and with a bit of teeth gritting, he managed to return to his feet, though the urge to vomit still lingered. What was going on? What kind of curse was this?

With his knees still wobbling, Ron was barely able to let out a _confringo_ to avoid being pounced on by an unusually fat Death Eater.

Ron side-stepped a _crusio_, but his counter-curse missed its target by mere inches. His head was spinning. He couldn't keep this charade up much longer. He had to get the muggles out of here.

"Look out!" a woman shouted, giving Ron just enough time to jump out of the way of a giant green flash. His stomach lurched; that was close. Far too close.

"Hey, lady!" he said to the woman. "Get out of here. Drag whoever you can with you."

The woman hesitated and Ron followed her eyes across the room to a stiff body lying on the floor. Oh shit.

"CHRISTOPHER!" she screamed, her arm reaching out to the dead man. Ron froze. What could he do? He looked around. Out of the six original attackers, there were still three that remained fully mobile and one who was hobbling around. Roughly fifteen muggles remained in the café, most of those that remained conscious were either hiding in the back or withering in agony on the floor. Why weren't they escaping? Then he realized with a sinking feeling that the Death Eaters were blocking the doors. Those bastards had even reinforced the windows so that nobody could smash through them! Ron could hear muggle sirens in the distance, but he doubted they could reach the place in time, let alone do anything once they actually got there.

He was about to tell the woman once again to move, when a massive explosion shook the building and a wall nearly collapsed on him. What the…?

A giant suit of armor stepped into the café, fixing its beady red eyes on Ron.

"Did you remember to get my books?"

* * *

**Things to look forward to: The aftereffects of Ron's curse, pros and cons of magical portraits, and at least a moderate amount of Phineas sass. **

**I don't have much confidence in writing actions scenes. If any of you guys have ideas or suggestions, please let me know.**

**To my reviewers: **

**Kale Of The Dragons: Haha, yeah. It wasn't exactly subtle.**

**urs-v: Interestingly enough, Angus Buchanan exists as both in the Harry Potter universe and as a real figure in our world. I don't know if he had a cat, but Rowling says that he was a squib discarded by his family who later went on to become one of Scotland's most famous rugby players, later publishing _My Life as a Squib_ in the wizarding world. Look up his backstory if you're interested, I find the whole thing to be really cool.**

**This_Cat_What_Did_That: Thank you :)**

**Fandom Jumping Expert: Yep.**

**Leo_Inuyuka: Hopefully in a good way?**

**Kenzie Perth: Thanks. I'm not sure when I'll post the Phineas story, but it probably won't be for a while because I have a lot of other stuff I want to get done. Right now I'm working on this fix and one (as of yet) unpublished Fullmetal Alchemist story that I am kind of obsessed with.**

**Guest: Haha, so true.**

**Miss_Moe: I'm finding him to be a unique character to write-especially when juxtaposed to Alphonse. I'm glad that you like it so much and thank you for the kind review.**

**Legendarily Quiet: I have faith that they'll be okay. Especially now that Alphonse is with them.**

**The_Awesome_Us: I WANT ALPHONSE JUICE!**

**Keef_a_Mighty: Thanks. I figured that would get a chuckle out of people.**

**Ai_Jay: Don't worry about the too lazy to log in part. I get that all the time. There was nothing particularly significant with Travers's name, he's just one of the Death Eaters. **

**Sky Veneziano: Thank you.**

**calcu22: Thanks.**

**eha1234: Thanks.**

**Guest: Thank you and yes it was.**

**Full_Mental_Panic: Phineas's page on Harry Potter wiki links to the Black family tree. The tree contains information that Phineas lived from 1847-1925 and that he had a brother named Sirius (a name that would later show up trice more in his family) who died in 1853. It is also known that Phineas Black was headmaster of Hogwarts for some period of time. So I pretty much used that cannon information and what I knew about his personality and had fun. As for the Ed portrait, it is _intended_ to be disturbing. I have several plans for portrait Ed, some of which are the ones you discussed, and I'm not sure which one I'm going with yet. And I'm really glad you liked Ron's moral dilemma with erasing the minds of muggles. Now that Alphonse has pointed it out, this will not be the only time the idea haunts him.**

**Guest: Ed is coming relatively soon.**

**Kyuubi_No_Puma: Yeah.**


	10. Chapter 10

**I thought I'd get this up sooner. Sorry. At least I kept my mental deadline of updating before 2015. **

**Thank you for your patience. This chapter had to go through many revisions and I'm not exactly thrilled with the way it turned out but it will have to do. Enjoy and please review.**

* * *

As soon as it became apparent that there was a huge, gaping hole in the wall from which to escape, the muggles wasted no time; everyone capable of independent motion exited en mass. Ron snorted. Well, at least they weren't stupid.

One boy, though—a muggle of maybe nine or ten years—paused before climbing through the wreckage and surveyed the scene before him with a curious stare. Unlike the others, he appeared to be in no hurry. What the hell was he thinking? If he didn't move soon, he'd get badly hurt—or worse. Ron hoped the kid would come to his senses before he got into any trouble.

"Where is he? Ron? Ron, are you okay?"

"Harry?" Ron was sure he'd heard his friend's voice. He looked around, but only saw Alphonse (giving a badass roundhouse kick to Death Eater #2, no less.) Granted, Ron couldn't exactly afford to look around too much given that he was in the middle of a series of back and forth hexes with one of the other remaining Death Eaters. "I'm fine, but where _are _you?"

"I—_Ow!_" Alphonse, having taken down two Death Eaters in a span of less than five minutes (what the—_how…?!_), was making his way over to Ron, scaling fallen tables and chairs with ease. The armor let out a sort of internal clank, which was followed by the groan of a teenage boy. _Harry? It couldn't be…_

Ron had definitely lucked out with the current Death Eater he was dueling. He was clearly a new recruit who had little idea of what to actually do. His wand movements were sluggish and reaction times off. Hell, the man hadn't even fired a single unforgivable and they had been at that duel for nearly ten minutes! Ron thanked his sorry arse for his training with Dumbledore's Army in his fifth year.

But still, he was getting tired. Whatever curse he'd been hit with earlier was taking its toll on his body; every move Ron made had him wanting to kneel over in pain. His entire torso was practically on fire.

Luckily, Al managed to reach the Death Eater he was dueling in seconds, throwing the man to the ground with a single punch and knocking him out cold with two. "You all right?" the armored boy asked.

Ron managed a nod, and then promptly collapsed onto the floor of the café. Fighting had taken a lot out of him, it seemed. His abdomen still hurt like hell, too. When he tried to sit up, black spots just danced in front of his eyes.

"We have to get out of here," he croaked. "The Death Eaters…they'll send reinforcements. There's no time…"

Al nodded in understanding and scooped Ron up into his arms, which would have been awkward, but Ron was far too exhausted to complain. "Of course."

Harry chose that moment to lift up Al's helm. He grinned in delight at the sight of his best friend. Ron, meanwhile, was more creeped out than anything. The surprise sent a shockwave through his entire body, which resulted in a rather unpleasant lurch in his abdomen. "Bloody hell, mate! What are you doing in there?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "It's kind of a long story. You're okay, though. That's what matters."

"Yeah. About that…" Before Harry had a chance to figure out what he was talking about, Ron turned over in Alphonse's arms and heaved. The redhead closed his eyes, not feeling any particular need to see what he had regurgitated onto the floor.

His friends, of course, had no such qualms. "Is that…_blood?"_ whispered Harry.

Brilliant. He could just picture returning to Hermione now. _'How was my day? Oh, fine. I just might've ruined the International Statute of Secrecy by letting a couple of muggles go free without modifying their memories and then I let another handful die because I couldn't watch my goddamn mouth. Oh yeah, I was also hit by an unknown curse that now has me vomiting blood. On the bright side, though, I got Al his books.'_

"…Losing him!"

Was that Harry?

"Ron! Say something! …It's no good."

Ron was pretty sure he probably could have managed a couple of words right then if he really tried. But what was the point in exerting more effort? Hadn't he been through enough today? Right now all he wanted to do was sleep. Yes; sleep would be nice…

* * *

"He's out," Harry announced.

Al nodded. It really didn't need to be said. If the Death Eaters were half as strong as Harry made them sound, then Al had no doubt that Ron would've worn himself out trying to keep them all at bay. Sleep would be good for the boy, give him a chance to refresh.

_It must be nice,_ he mused, _to be able to block out all of one's worries by losing consciousness. I wish I were able to do that. _But now wasn't the time to wallow in self-pity. There were things that needed to be done.

_Clang. Clang._ "Let me out, Alphonse. It's safe for me now."

Why wouldn't that boy stop banging on him? It was really starting to get annoying. "Um…okay, if you're sure." He carefully bent over and let him crawl out.

"I need to do this quickly," Harry explained. "The police will be here soon."

"Isn't that a good thing? And _what _is it you need to do?"

Harry looked up and gave him somewhat of a devilish grin. It was the grin Al had seen so often on the face of his brother right before he did something incredibly foolish. God, he _missed_ him. He missed everybody. "I'm going to obliviate the Death Eaters first, then I'll get the muggles."

_Obliviate?_ Why did that sound so familiar? Alphonse gasped. "You're going to erase their memories!"

Harry nodded, trying to hide the fact that he was impressed with Alphonse's memory. "And I've got to do it quickly. Do me a favor and guard the entrance, will you?"

"Uh…sure." Making his way over to the giant hole in the wall, Al suddenly stopped in his tracks. There was a boy standing near the wreckage. The kid was watching Al with a look that made the armored boy feel uneasy. Nevertheless, Al offered the boy a friendly wave, "Hello, there. What's your name?"

"Winston," replied the child monotonously, taking a step forward.

It was strange how the boy didn't seem at all confused about the giant suit of armor who was engaging him in conversation. Then again, there was a good chance that he was in shock after what he just experienced. "Okay, Winston. My name is Alphonse Elric. You're not hurt or anything, right?"

Winston didn't answer, he just kept walking towards the looming suit of armor as if Al were something as common as a vending machine. Before he could figure out what the boy was doing, Winston yanked Ron's unconscious body out of Al's arms. His body hit the ground with a painful-sounding _thunk._

The noise caught Harry's attention, who spun around and looked at the boy in confusion. "You need to leave! It's out safe for you here." Winston stood, unmoving. Al let out a moan of annoyance. "I'm serious. You need to get out of here. Hang on…is that…? Oh my god! Ron! What are you_ doing_ to him?!"

Alphonse didn't wait to find out. Closer to the boy than Harry, he tried to make a grab for the boy, who easily ducked out of the way. Winston made a mad dash for the tables at the far end of the shop, knocking over tables and chairs along the way to make it more difficult for Al to follow.

"Keep working on the Death Eaters!" Alphonse said. "I'll get Ron."

Harry looked like he wanted to protest, but, realizing the practicality of the plan, sighed in resignation and continued his spell-casting.

Winston, while short of breath, showed no signs of stopping as he dragged Ron over to a fully set table. Al barely had time to register what was happening when Winston grabbed the knife from the table and held it above the redhead's jugular vein.

_"No!"_ Alphonse plowed through the table barricade and pulled Ron away just in the nick of time. The blade missed and bounced harmlessly off of Al's metallic elbow. The ricochet sent Winston flying backward but, with almost inhuman speed and agility, he managed to turn the tumble into a perfect blackflip.

_This guy seems even more fit than Teacher. At least that would be the case if he wasn't so red in the face. His ankle also seems twisted, but that hasn't slowed him down at all. It's like he didn't even notice._

Winston's lips pulled back into an animalistic snarl. "Give him to me!" he growled.

Without quite thinking his actions through, Al lifted his helmet and dropped Ron inside of his suit, trying not to wince when he heard a loud metallic clang. The poor guy would probably face a concussion from this ordeal, but Al couldn't think of a safer place to put him. His ultimate reasoning was simple: _better a concussion than a slit throat. _

Realizing that Ron was now out of his reach, Winston ran for Alphonse at top speed, not even cringing when his tiny body collided with the armor. "Let him out!" he shouted. "I need him! I need to kill him!"

The kid clearly wasn't in his right mind and Al didn't want to hurt him. Maybe he could be reasoned with. "Why do you want to kill him, Winston?"

"…I need to!"

"Why?"

"'Cuz I need to. Give him to me!" He made another run towards Alphonse, but this time he was ready and managed to grab Winston by the shoulders. The boy kicked and struggled, but Al was unyielding.

Harry, at this point finished with the Death Eaters, made his way over to Al and Winston. "Don't hurt him!" he shouted. "I…I think he's cursed."

"Cursed?"

Harry nodded. "One of the Death Eaters must've imperio'd him before getting knocked out. He must have been a pretty good caster, too. Usually the spell wears off when the spell caster is no longer concentrating."

Alphonse did not understand most of what was just said, but he picked up enough information to guess the rest. "Do you know a spell that can un-imperio him?"

"No, but it should wear off soon. Look at him, his movements are slowing down." Sure enough, Winston's struggling had toned down considerably.

Al shook his head. "I don't think so. He just seems to be getting tired. He probably over-exerted himself before and now his body can't push any harder."

"I don't think you understand how the Imperius Curse works. It gives people some kind of super strength. One time," Harry chuckled a bit, as if recalling a fond memory, "a teacher practiced it on our class Defense class and made Neville Longbottom do a gymnastics routine—"

Alphonse had so many questions about the validity of this teacher…and also who in the word had the last name "Longbottom," but decided to save his questions for another time. Right now he had to get his point across. "This 'curse' of yours might act as some sort of super strong hypnosis that makes him temporarily not mind exhaustion or pain, but I highly doubt it can give someone extra muscle mass or—"

"It's not hypnosis! It's _magic_."

"Look, I just—"

A loud groan echoed from the inside of Al's armor.

"…Why does my head hurt so much?"

* * *

It was lucky that Western General Hospital was near by. Harry was less than thrilled about handing Ron over to muggles, but he figured it would have to do for now.

On the way there, Ron vomited blood three separate times. Alphonse visibly grimaced every time he did but Harry couldn't tell if it was out of actual concern or worry at the idea of his suit's interior getting stained.

They had decided to take the kid—Winston—with them. After everything he went through there was no doubt he would need medical treatment. Hopefully the police would be able to contact his family.

Their trip to the hospital attracted more onlookers than Harry would've liked. To be fair, though, this was probably the most ridiculous of their set ups: Alphonse running at full speed with a stunned Winston in his arms and Harry desperately clinging on piggy-back style. By the time they reached the hospital, Harry was so fed up that he just_ confunded_ his way into getting an appointment.

"Don't worry, Ron," he whispered. "Everything is going to be fine."

* * *

"Headmaster! Headmaster!"

Severus Snape fixed his eyes on the portrait in unhidden annoyance. Like always, he voice was icy cold and scarcely above a whisper. "What is it, Phineas? And hurry it up. I don't have all day."

The former headmaster merely grinned, not at all alarmed by Snape's less than warm greeting. "I think I may know where Potter and his friends are hiding."

To the casual onlooker, Snape's expression would not appear to have changed. But Phineas caught sight of a slight widening of the Headmaster's eyes in tandem with an ever-so-subtle eyebrow raise.

"And where might they be?"

Phineas's chest swelled with pride at the thought of helping in the noble name of Slytherin. "Edinburgh. One of them mentioned a location called the Elephant House. It's a muggle café that Albus used to frequent. The little brats forgot I was there and practically sang their location to my face."

"I see. Acceptable work, Phineas." From Snape, that meant thank you.

"Oh, one more thing. They seem to have met up with a friend. A muggle boy, if I'm not mistaken. He goes by the name Alphonse."

"Well, that is interesting indeed."

"Headmaster, what is it you plan to _do?"_

Snape did not answer. Instead he flicked his wand until a silvery mist appeared. Phineas watched in interest as the mist reformed itself into the shape of a doe. Before he could inquire further, Snape exited his office with his cape magnificently billowing behind him. The doe, too, hastily retreated.

Phineas smirked. Every time he thought he had that man figured out, Snape did something to surprise him.

_Yes. Interesting indeed._

* * *

**Ambiguity in D Major: There will be more Phineas and badass Alphonse to come, but I think that I will avoid sending over any more FMA characters...at least in the traditional sense.**

**Harrys_woman: Haha, yeah. Honestly, that would probably be my first question, too.**

**chica_alter_ego: He's working on it. But Al can still kick butt without it.**

**urs-v: Thanks.**

**Kyuubi_No_Puma: Coming to store this fall...**

**Kenzie Perth: That would be awesome!**

**Guest: Good point and thank you.**

**Miss_Moe: I like doing it, too. It makes me a) feel like I had lots of friends and b) appear to have longer chapters in the word count. The idea to respond to reviews came from a South Park fan fiction writer, actually. Like you, I felt special when responded to, so I decided to take on the practice. **

**The_Awesome_Us: Thanks.**

**Ai_Jay: That makes sense. I'll keep that in mind when I write them in the future. Thanks.**

**Manta_Cat: Thank you.**

* * *

**COMING UP...**

**Ron discovers the joy of an Upper Gastrointestinal Study, Al begins a very special art project, and a disturbing discovery is made.**


	11. Chapter 11

***Awkwardly shuffles feet* Hi, guys...sorry for the several month hiatus. My high school is one of those weird places that gives midterms AFTER winter break. **

**I was going to update on Sunday but snow + Super Bowl party + little sister's play + fencing match + grandparents in town = busy.**

* * *

Ron had never been inside of a muggle hospital before, but after a mere several minutes of experience he concluded it was just as unpleasant as its wizard counterpart, perhaps even more so because of all the unrecognizable equipment that surrounded him. Machines beeped, fluids dripped, and voices chattered at a pace and level he couldn't hope to understand even in his normal mental state. Still, when it came down to it, hospitals were hospitals, wizard or muggle: all were disorienting, abnormally white, and reeked of death.

There was a ton of shouting, first at Harry and Al, then at him. The dialogue seemed to consist of some sort of argument, but at this point in time it was difficult for Ron to piece sentences together. It was loud, far too loud; he didn't like it one little bit. Ron supposed that his friends must've been pretty persuasive, though, because the healers calmed down after a few minutes of fighting. That, or Harry had just confunded them all into being more agreeable.

"Son, I'm gonna need you to sign this."

Another healer. Damn it, why were they asking him to do things? Couldn't they see he was barely conscious as it was? Ron blinked, and forced a question out of his mouth. "Whassit for?"

"It's your consent for an upper gastrointestinal series."

"Oh. Erm…sure." He took the pen into his clumsy fingers and started to write the name "Jack Jackson." He had made it about halfway through the title when he realized that nothing had appeared on the page. Ron tried again, but the pen seemed defective. "What the…? Where's the…tip?"

Harry—who Ron only just now realized was standing next to him, along with Alphonse—laughed nervously, and pressed down on a button at the end of the pen. "Here you go."

Ron thanked his friend and managed to scribble something onto the page that vaguely resembled English before passing out.

* * *

There was so much blood. It reminded Al of Izumi when she got sick. Could that be what the spell did to him? Remove parts of his insides? Alphonse hoped not. Even if Ron were to survive the heavy hemorrhaging, how well would he be able to function with half of his organs gone?

At least right now he looked stable enough. Pale, but not ghostly so, the redhead was peacefully asleep in the hospital bed.

Harry entered the room, his face almost paler than Ron's. Alphonse was afraid to ask what had happened. Luckily, Harry initiated the conversation, so he didn't have to.

"I just got back from talking to the doctor," the boy's face was grim, "they said Ron's going to have to stay here for a little bit to monitor him before the x-ray."

"How long is a little bit?"

Harry's eyes turned to the ground. "Eight hours."

Alphonse nodded gravely.

"I told Hermione to move the camp ground if we were gone long. Do you think you could find your way back on your own?"

Al, who prided himself on his excellent memory, nodded. "But wait…does that mean you want me to go by myself?"

"I might regret it later, but right now I don't have a choice; I'm trusting you here, Alphonse." The words stunned him. He couldn't think of a way to respond. He had done it. He had gained Harry's trust. But Al didn't have time to revel in the victory. "I have to stay here and confund any hospital workers that start asking too many questions."

Al cringed. "That…that won't hurt them or anything, will it?"

"No. It just clouds their judgment. I'm not exactly a legal guardian and what Ron needs more than anything right now is help. The doctors are much more likely to provide that help if they aren't suspicious of him."

Alphonse was hesitant. He didn't really like the sound of messing with people's minds, even if it was for a good cause (though he couldn't understand why any doctor would deny a patient treatment if he was suspicious of the circumstances surrounding the injury.) Then again, he really didn't know very much about this world. Maybe he was looking at things the wrong way.

But it wouldn't be the first time a "wizard" had used his talents inadvisably. Al remembered when Ron had almost erased his memory and a knot formed in his nonexistent stomach. He had just stood by and watched when Harry had obliviated the Death Eaters, but what if it was unfounded? What if the Death Eaters were being controlled by hypnosis, just like the little boy? They would have no way of knowing.

Even if they weren't being controlled, Al reason, surely erasing their memories wasn't a logical conclusion. What would become of their lives now? Al knew next to nothing about the "magic," but he was sure that the Death Eaters' leader would try to call his followers back. What then? If the Dark Lord was half as evil as Ron claimed, he wouldn't hesitate in killing his men if they were no longer useful to him. At best, the former killers would wander around the muggle town in a state of confusion and panic, unable to recall at least a significant amount of the past. Harry said that he had planned to obliviate the muggles at the scene, but all of them had fled before he got the chance. Surely they would remember the men in black robes and report them to the police. The poor men would find themselves in prison or worse for crimes they didn't even remember committing!

_This is a messed up system, _he concluded darkly. Did the wizards even think about the fact that their actions had consequences? From what Ron had told him, it seemed that obliviation was the go to answer for most of their problems. How could anyone not see the obvious flaw in logic?! Or else they just didn't care.

And just how clueless would it leave them? Did victims even recall how to speak or eat? Maybe he wouldn't go straight to Hermione like Harry wanted. Maybe he'd run around Edinburgh and try to help any former Death Eaters he came across. They couldn't be dangerous if they remembered no motivation to be. Humans were never naturally evil. Wasn't it his duty to help them, then?

But he couldn't. Not yet. He had a job to do and he was pressed for time. Besides, he wouldn't even know where to look for the men. That wasn't to say the topic was being dropped. Not in the least. Al made a mental note to ask Hermione about obliviation when he got the chance, she usually seemed to have answers to his questions.

He was almost out the door of the hospital, when a voice caught his attention.

"…Have to believe me. It was magic! I couldn't move and they made me do bad things."

"Do you recall any names or face?"

"No! I already told you they wore masks. You have to stop them. I don't want them to come back and do more magic stuff to me. The police have to get them! Promise me they will!"

"I'm sorry. I can't promise you that. The police will be here in a few hours, you can tell them your story then, but it maybe difficult to find these men, especially if you don't have any physical description."

The boy shrieked in fear and anger. "_No!_ That's too long. Make them come now. They're the police! They _have _to stop them because they're the bad guys. Otherwise they'll just disappear again…or…or they'll hurt people with their lights."

"Their lights?"

"Yeah. Their magic lights."

"Um…Winston, do you recall these men giving you anything to eat? Or possibly sniff? Sometimes we think we see things but we really—"

"You think I'm lying!" Winston accused, "but I'm not! It was real, live magic!"

"Sir."

"Uh?" Al looked to the source of the voice and saw a nurse standing in the hallway.

"Sir, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask to leave this hall. It's for patients and doctors only."

"Right! Sorry. I was just…leaving."

Deciding not to wait for the lady to ask any further questions, Al made his way out of the building, Winston's cries still echoing in his head.

* * *

"They'll be back," Hermione whispered, "they'll be back."

Over the past few hours, the words had become a sort of prayer every time she checked the time. _If Al and I don't return by nightfall with Ron, I'm counting on you to leave without us._ Why didn't they propose a better backup plan? What had they been thinking? What had _she _been thinking when she agreed to their stupid idea?

Hermione wandered around the tent feeling lost. She stopped when she came across a pile of papers lying haphazardly on the floor. Hermione resisted the urge clean them up, having promised Alphonse that she'd leave his work untouched, and instead opted to just look at them.

Equations and symbols covered just about every available square inch of parchment. Codded notes and complex figures that she could not even begin to understand filled her vision. Al's plan was to somehow use these writings to destruct their horcrux. (_How_, Hermione couldn't imagine.)

What would she do if they didn't return? Hermione felt a lump in her throat. The worst part of course was that there was nothing she could do. Nothing but wait.

Desperate for a distraction, Hermione picked up her copy of _Tales of Beedle the Bard_. Hermione wasn't sure just how many times she had read it, having lost count after thirty. Ron laughed at her supposedly useless attempts to find meaning in the wizard fairy tales and now even she was beginning to lose patience with the book. Give her an ancient text to decode or a major piece of literature to explicate any day, but this..._this_ was something different entirely. Hermione wasn't even sure where to start. She had tried looking at it from every possible angle but the stories still seemed to be just that: stories. Clearly Dumbledore had intended for her to find _something _in them, but for the life of her, Hermione couldn't figure out what it was. Maybe she wasn't really as smart as people made her out to be.

The last thought hung in the air like a dark cloud of foreboding. Perhaps it was true and she really wasn't that smart. After all, she couldn't think of a way to save her friends. And ever since Alphonse had arrived, she found herself more clueless than ever. Was it possible that she had just never seen _true_ intelligence?

Hermione felt like she wanted to cry. She dragged her feet over to the bathroom and stared at her reflection. Sunken brown eyes, blemished skin, and several frizzy hair strands escaping a ponytail looked back at her. Merlin, had she always been this ugly? Granted, several months in the woods never did much for one's complexion and it wasn't like she usually gave her appearances much thought anyway, but Hermione hardly recognized the figure in front of her.

That was always the thing: she was never physically attractive. Even without the beaver teeth, she still could only be called plain at best. And it wasn't like she made up for it in humor or sports or charisma or anything. People noticed her for her intelligence and now she wasn't even sure she had that.

But without her mind, she was nothing.

_You're thought process is irrational,_ she told herself. _Just because Alphonse may be smarter than you doesn't mean that your own intelligence is unexceptional._

"My own intelligence," she mumbled, "what intelligence? All I ever do is memorize! I-I can't write my own theorems or…" her voice faltered as a bright flash of silver came into sight behind the flap of the tent. Curious, she made her way forward, knowing well enough not to cross the barriers where her obscuring spell ended. She made it just in time to discern what it was: a patronus. It had moved too fast for her to pick up a definite shape, but there was no mistaking the silvery mist for anything else. Had Harry or Ron tried to send a message back that they needed her after all?

In an uncharacteristically rash move, Hermione bolted after the silvery figure, leaving the safety of the campground behind.

As she ran, a nagging thought began to perturb her: if one her friends had sent the patronus, why did it run past the camp like it wasn't there? Harry and Ron were both excluded from the obscuration spell. Hermione dismissed the thoughts quickly. Even if it wasn't from the two of them, it remained fact that only members of The Order knew how to use patronuses to transmit messages. Whatever the news was, Hermione knew it would be important.

Where had it gone? She had taken her eyes off of the spell for one second and now it was gone. If she could only…

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks as an unexpected chill went up her spine. She didn't know how she knew it, but she was not alone. Her suspicions were only confirmed when she heard the sound of heavy footsteps coming from behind her.

This was it. She had been discovered. And as a muggle born on the run there would be only one fitting place for her in this anarchy. Hermione gulped as the footsteps quickened. She wouldn't even have time to draw her wand. _Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._ Why had she run off? It was so unlike her. Why hadn't she stayed in the tent where it was safe?

The footsteps came to a halt. "…Hermione?"

"Alphonse!" she couldn't remember ever being so delighted to see someone in her life. Without thinking, she ran up and wrapped her arms around (most of) the armored boy's metallic body. "Oh, thank Merlin it's you." Pause. "Where are the others?"

"Harry's fine. Ron—"

_"Ron!"_ The color in her face waned. That idiot! She should've been there to help him. Guilt started to overwhelm her consciousness and Hermione wondered vaguely if this was how Harry felt. "He's okay, right?"

"He should be," Al replied. "He's pretty badly beaten up, though. Harry and I brought him to a hospital. The doctors say he has a concussion and some kind of hernia."

"Hernia?" Hermione echoed. The word sounded extremely familiar. She had probably come across it dozens of times in books, but for some reason the definition was escaping her.

"It's when the organs move around. The doctors suspect it's his stomach, but they think the colon and small intestine might be involved too."

Slightly in shock, Hermione managed a mute nod.

"Why aren't you at camp?" Al asked.

His voice wasn't accusing, merely curious, but Hermione still felt a need to act defensive. "It wasn't my fault. I saw a patronus and thought it could be something im—" The patronus! She had to find it. "Al, you guard the camp ground until I get back."

"But—"

"I need to find something." The patronus had run away a few minutes ago, but for whatever reason—probably from the heavy concentration of happy memories—Hermione was confident she could catch up to it.

With a grin on her face, she took off—or tried to, anyway. Alphonse grabbed her by the arm before she could make it very far. "You should go back to the camp," he said. "It can't be good if none of you three are at base. I'll go after the patronus if you want."

"No." Hermione yanked her arm out of his grip. Alphonse was so surprised that he didn't even object. Part of her mind was telling her that this was all the horcrux's doing, that it was making her more impulsive. But she could worry about that later. Right now she _needed _to find that patronus. "I'm going," she insisted. "I'm tired of waiting around and doing nothing. I'm going to help and this patronus could be the key."

Seeing that there was no convincing her otherwise, Al nodded and the two took off in their respective directions.

* * *

The enticement charm on Headmaster Snape had put on his patronus was working rather well, Phineas mused. Even the normally cautious mudblood had gone running after it. The question now was if she would be able to finish the operation on her own. Phineas didn't doubt it was within her capabilities. As much as he hated to admit it, the mudblood was resourceful.

But the next footsteps to enter the tent were not from the mudblood or even Potter, rather (as made obvious by the high-pitched mumbling) it was Alphonse the muggle boy.

Phineas stayed silent. Perhaps he could pick up on some critical information.

At first, all he could pick up on was the scratching of pen on parchment and the turning of pages.

"Brother, I wish you were here. I don't know what to do."

There he went with "brother" again. Phineas continued to listen as the muggle boy shuffled through books and papers before the boy let out a little moan of defeat.

"I don't understand these terms. _Half-life. Chromatography. Television. _I can't do this on my own." There was a sigh and a few more attempts at research before Alphonse concluded that it was time for a break.

"Well," the boy whispered. "I guess I could paint."

* * *

**urs-v: Yeah. Ron's not out of the woods yet either. Not with that many hernias.**

**Manta_Cat: You're welcome and thank you.**

**Kenzie Perth: *Shrugs* I didn't put a whole lot of thought into it. I just kind of looked up Scottish names. It's far from the worst name a parent can give their children. It certainly didn't hinder Churchill's success.**

**The_Awesome_Us: Let's find out!**

**Guest: That does sound uncomfortable. From what I've read, though, a UGS just involves swallowing some barium and then getting an x-ray. No butt cameras for Ron.**

**Lady Cocoa: I alluded to the project earlier in the story. Sadly, I didn't get to really go into it in this chapter.**

**clacu22: Snape is pretty much doing the same thing he did in the books.**

**Ai_Jay: I don't know how much of a "major" part Snape will be playing to be honest. As for Al's shuddering, it was a combination of fear for Ron's life and recollections of Izumi's affliction. Remember that Al's interior is already stained from Martel.**

**Harrys_woman: Definitely.**

**Morghan._Made._Of._Kandi: Thanks. Sorry that this isn't exactly "soon."**

**Juvias_POV: Yes it is.**

**Yuyake no Okami: Oh wow. I completely forgot May was in that scene. I don't know whether I should be amused or creeped out.**

**Full_Mental_Panic: The blood was specifically chosen because it would remind Al of Izumi. Al was also kind of overwhelmed with what was going on, which is why he didn't have an extended argument with Harry. He also now realizes just how dangerous the wizards can be and doesn't want to get on Harry bad side. You're right that he didn't actually get around to obliviating the muggles and had Harry physically gone after them, Al would have done something. Also, it's Phineas's duty to be loyal to Hogwarts's headmaster. In the book, he also rats out the trio to Snape. **

**lumuntness: I'm glad to hear it. Thank you.**

**91Silver: Phineas is rather interesting to write. I mentioned before (and I probably will again) that I plan on writing a fan fiction about his time as headmaster because it would have been during such an interesting muggle era. **


	12. Chapter 12

**I apologize for the lateness. My computer recently crashed, and anyone who's had that happen to him knows what a JOY that is to deal with.**

**A quick recap for those who don't remember: Ron is in the hospital with Harry, Hermione is trying to chase down a doe patronus, and Alphonse has started painting for reasons which you may or may not have guessed.**

* * *

It had been a while since he last painted. Back in 1911, Granny Pinako had bought an art kit in order to help Ed work on his fine coordination skills with his new automail. Ed—never having been one for drawing—abandoned the kit by the end of the week. Alphonse had rescued the box from the trash and took to painting during those many long nights alone. He was quite good, if he did say so himself; having a steady hand from drawing so many transmutation circles came in handy.

Al had been painting sometime between one and two hours when Hermione returned to the tent looking rather downtrodden. Her hair was full of leaves and twigs, one of shoes was missing, and a nasty-looking gash ran down her face.

Alphonse gaped. "What happened?"

She stared down at the floor, miserable. "I lost the doe. It was too fast for me to keep up. I tried to rest against a tree, but I didn't realize it was inhabited by a bowtruckle."

"A what-truckle?"

"A bowtruckle. Tree dwelling beast. That's how I got this," she pointed to her bleeding face. "Their scratches are annoying but benign," she added quickly before Alphonse could express concern. "Then I lost my shoes trying to get away from it." She pulled a twig out of her hair and sighed. "It was probably for the best, anyway. Chances are, the thing was cursed."

"We should probably wait here until the others come back."

Hermione nodded in agreement. Eager for a change of topic, she peered over at Al's theorems. "How are your equations coming?"

"They're almost done, but I've…um…hit a little bump in the road. You see, the books that Ron got me use a ton of weird terminology I don't know," he gave a little shrug, "usually I'm good at deciphering these things on my own, but at least I home I have the necessary background."

Hermione crouched down to get a better look at his work. "That symbol over there," she pointed to a small loop shape. "That means to distill, right?"

Al took a look for himself. "It does. How did you know that?"

"I read it in a book. _Hogwarts: A History_ has sample N.E.W.T questions in the back for all subjects and alchemy is an optional class at Hogwarts. Every year, incoming sixth and seventh years who are interested sign up and if enough people come forward, they have a class. I tried to get a class going two summers ago. I'd bought the necessary books and was all ready."

"What happened?"

Hermione's cheeks turned slightly red. She looked down, embarrassed. "I was the only one to sign up. Apparently Hogwarts hasn't had an actual alchemy class since 1983. It's fallen mostly out of practice in Britain. I doubt the bulk of Hogwarts students even realize that it's an option." She shrugged. "I hear it's mandatory at other schools, though."

"If you know that alchemy exists in world, why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"Like, I said, it's fallen out of practice in most places. Besides, what you're doing doesn't look like the kind of alchemy I read about. In fact, it doesn't look like magic at all."

"That's what I keep trying to tell you guys. There. Is. No. Magic."

Hermione frowned. "Well, that's hardly—"

"The world is like a steam engine or a prosthetic limb; everything does its part in order to establish an efficient end product. That much is evident when we look at the food chain or the periodic table. We may not understand what every screw and bolt does, but that doesn't mean it doesn't serve a purpose. It can all be explained because it's all linked. One is all and all is one."

Alphonse had no doubt Hermione understood his analogies, but the underlying message seemed to be lost on her. She furrowed her brow in confusion, evidently trying to understand what he was getting at. Finally, she opened her mouth and spoke. "You mean like monism?"

"What?"

"It's the religious idea that everything exists as one unit. Not in a homogeneous way, but—"

"But in the sense that everybody plays their own part. I think I understand what you're getting at. Yeah, it's kind of like that. But it's more of a philosophical worldview than a religious one. At least to me and Brother." Without thinking, Al's helmet turned to the painting on the floor.

Hermione's eyes followed his gaze. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. Evidently she had not noticed his project until now. It did not take long for her to figure it out, though. "That's him, isn't it? Your brother Edward."

"Yeah."

She reached out to grab it, stopping short only a few millimeters. "May I?" Al nodded and she carefully picked up the painting. "This is phenomenal, Al! When did you make it?"

"I finished a few minutes ago, actually. Do you really like it? I thought it looked too linear. And his eyes are too big for his face."

"No, I like it. It reminds me a bit of one of those Japanese cartoons." Hermione handed the painting back to Al. "What do you plan to do with it?"

"Well, you know how Phineas is kind of alive even though he's just a painting?"

"Yeah. What are you…oh." Al didn't like the look on Hermione's face. "Alphonse, that's really advanced magic you're talking about."

Uh oh. This wasn't good. Out of the (admittedly few) wizards he had met so far, Hermione was clearly the most advanced. If _she _couldn't enchant the painting, then who could? He didn't know why he was surprised. Anything that could animate or even partially animate the inanimate was bound to be far from simple. And Hermione was just a kid.

_Ed animated your armor when he was only eleven,_ whispered a little voice in Al's mind.

_Yeah, but that was through a completely different means, _he countered. _Besides, Brother isn't exactly your typical kid. He's exceptional. A prodigy._

_Haven't these guys also proven to be exceptional?_

Al pushed the voice out of his conscious. He couldn't think ill of Hermione and the others. Especially after all they had done for him. But at the same time, he couldn't give up. Not when he was so close to hearing his brother's voice again. "Do you think…do you think you could try?"

Hermione hesitated and nibbled on her bottom lip. "Well, I mean, it would take several hours—not to mention rather liberal use of transfiguration in order to get all of the necessary materials—but I _did_ come across a potion that might help. Granted, I don't how much—"

"Oh, thank you! Thank you! THANK YOU!" The armored boy pulled her in to a massive hug, only letting go when Hermione expressed that she was being suffocated.

* * *

"So let me get this straight: the potion—I mean the _thing_—I just swallowed is going to help you _see through my body_ to find out what's wrong with it?"

Dr. Bennett moaned in annoyance. "Yes. That is the plan."

Ron raised a scarlet-colored eyebrow. "And you are absolutely, positively certain there is no magic involved? Not that magic exists or anything," he added quickly.

It took Harry every ounce of his willpower not bang him on the head with the doctor's clipboard. There was only so much confunding he could do. Merlin, why wouldn't he stop talking?

The doctor, to his credit, merely smiled good-naturedly (and a bit pityingly) at the redhead and shook his head. "Sometimes I feel that way. But no. The barium sulfate is just a compound that will show up easily on the x-ray so we can see what's bothering you."

"I already _told_ you what was bothering me."

Now even the doctor seemed to be losing his nerve. "Yes, and you were very helpful because your descriptions have helped us narrow the possibilities down to only a few ailments. Now, wait here. I'll be back shortly with the x-ray equipment."

Ron waited until the doctor left the room to speak. "Remind me why we can't go to St. Mungo's again?"

"Because odds are Volde—You-Know-Who," Harry hated having to use that euphemism, but after what happened at the café with Ron, it didn't seem like he had much of a choice, "has taken it over just like every other goddamn corporation in our world." Harry inhaled sharply and forced himself to relax. "Trust me, Ron, it may not look like it, but the muggles know what they're doing." Ron still looked grumpy, so he continued his efforts to pacify the boy. "Remember that we're not staying here any longer than we need to. As soon as you're stabilized we can return to camp and—"

"Sir?" A pretty blond nurse stuck her head into the room. "Sir, we're going to have to ask you to step out for a moment."

"How come?"

"We're about to perform the x-ray and we can't have a bystander exposed to the radiation."

Radiation? What was…oh right. That thing. Sometimes Harry forgot how little he actually recalled of the muggle world.

Dutifully, he stepped outside, doing his best to ignore the frantic protests from his friend.

"Harry? Where are you going? What are they putting on me? Help! Help, I can't move!"

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "That's just an apron, Ron. It shields you from the rays. You can move just fine."

_Just breathe, Harry. It will all be over soon._

And it was. Only a few seconds later, Harry was ushered back into the room to find a confused Ron slowly removing his lead apron.

"That was it?"

"That was it," Harry confirmed.

"Bloody hell," he breathed. "How is a thing like that even possible?"

Harry shrugged. "Beats me."

"Are you sure it worked?"

* * *

"Are you sure it worked?" The trepidation in Al's voice was in no way disguised.

"It's hard to say," Hermione admitted, looking over the painting with no small amount of interest herself. She had never seen a magical portrait "born" before. "We should probably wait a minute and see if—"

The painting blinked, its strikingly golden eyes seemed to come into focus. It really was a stunning sight to behold and Hermione found herself truly studying it for the first time. The detail was incredible. His long, blond hair was tied back in a plait with uneven bangs and a small antenna-like spring sticking up on top. His face was mostly round, but it came to an abrupt, almost pointed end. And his eyes…what could she say about his eyes? They were no doubt the part Al paid the most attention to: wide-set golden orbs with long lashes that seemed to be on a permanent angle.

While undoubtedly male, there was something undeniably feminine about his features. He was a pretty boy, there was no way around that. But there was something else, something mysterious and intriguing that his Japanimation angularity only emphasized further.

Al let out a strangled sort of gasp. He was trembling, Hermione noted. The boy was completely overcome with awe and joy. She could hardly blame him.

"It worked."

Hermione, meanwhile, was also hardly unable to contain herself. She had done it! She had actually done it! She brought this painting to life. As if drawn into a trance, her hand drew forward, mesmerized by the creation, until her finger tips nearly grazed the parchment.

Alphonse stepped forward, at least he had stopped shaking now (mostly.) "B-Brother?"

The portrait blinked again, its painted face scrunched up in confusion. Hermione braced herself as it opened its mouth. She was ready to hear what the creation had to say. God, this was exhilarating.

"…Why are a person's fingers in my face?" Hermione's eyes widened and she quickly withdrew her and, mortified.

"Big Brother?"

The golden eyes turned to the direction of the sound and Hermione remembered why he was created in the first place. This was the moment of truth. With bated breath, she watched "Ed" stare blankly at the armor in front of him for several long moments. She didn't understand. Had the magic gone wrong? Did Ed's painting not recognize his own brother? Merlin knew it would break Al's heart. If there was just something she could—

The eyes widened with sudden realization. "…Al?" He grinned. "Alphonse!"

Hermione had no doubt there would have been tears from the younger brother if he were flesh and blood. If there had been any lingering doubts in her mind about Alphonse's humanity, it sure as hell was gone now. The horcrux's happiness was so intense it felt contagious. Hermione couldn't help but smile along.

"Oh Brother! I can't believe it's really you!"

Ed snorted. "Well, who else would it be?"

"I have so much to tell you. I—"

The flap of the tent opened and two shivering boys stepped in, both soaking from head to toe. There was definitely a story there.

"Hate to interrupt, Ron said, "but—wait." He pointed to Ed. "Who_'__s_ she?"

* * *

**Not my best chapter, but it makes way for a few interesting story arcs.**

**I'm not entirely sure of the nature of Ed's painting yet. I feel like it could go in several directions. If anyone wants to have some input, the review button is below.**

**Coming up: Ron's diagnosis, a game-changing realization, and some familiar faces.**

* * *

**urs-v: Thanks. And yes, it is a cruel world indeed. **

**Ai_Jay: Martel was one of Greed's human chimeras—a snake to be specific. In both series(es?) she is stabbed to death in Al's armor.**

**Dissonant_Toxophilite: Phineas is lots of fun! I'm not sure when I'll get around to his story, though. It could be a while.**

**Guest: Not quite a stick figure, but the anime painting style was a shout out to your comment. It was also a "screw you" to the fourth wall.**

**Sprite_Blazer: I'm glad you tried it anyway. Thank you for the review.**

**FullMental_Panic: I feel like that's a big part of Al's character in general. He contemplates morality quite a bit in the show, too. Hermione, also, probably spends a good amount of time mulling things over in her head. I'm glad I was able to portray both of their dilemmas convincingly. **

**Mintress_345: Thank you. The reason behind it is actually that I lack the patience to keep writing a single scene for 2000+ words, but I'm glad that I'm able to pull off my laziness with style.**

**Serendipital: Thanks.**

**Yuyake no Okami: People reacting to strange environments is one of my favorite things to write about. At least Ron has Harry with him. Otherwise, he'd be screwed for sure.**

**Prince Yarar: Thank you. Romances have never been my favorite so I tend to stray away from them.**

**Guest: Yep. **


	13. Chapter 13

The response was so instantaneous that one would think it was rehearsed.

"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU CALLING A SNOTTY-NOSED LITTLE PIPSQUEAK SMALL ENOUGH TO BE A GIRL?!"

Ron stared stupidly at the painted figure before him while his still-soaking clothes dripped a nice-sized puddle on the ornate carpet. "I…" his voice trailed off. It had been too long and confusing a day for him to muster up the energy needed for a proper response.

"You _what?_" the painting retaliated. It seemed to be growing more pissed by the second and for the love of Merlin, Ron could not figure out **why**. "Go on, get it out if you have more to say. Do you want to tell everyone how I'm practically microscopic? Tiny? Imperceptible? How a grain of rice can sustain me for weeks? IS THAT IS? _HUH?!" _

Alphonse stepped forward, creating a wall between Ron and the psychotic little girl-boy. The armor's hands were held out in front of him in a poor but commendable attempt to make peace between the parties.

"Brother, calm down. He didn't mean it like that—"

"Wait, wait, wait. _Brother?_ Am I missing something? Will someone _PLEASE _explain what the bloody hell is going on?"

"I agree with Tomato here," the she-who-was-apparently-a-he stated, much to Ron's surprise, "I want an explanation and I want one now. Where are we, Al? Who are these people? Do I need to beat anyone up? Maybe transmute a giant cannon or something?"

"Cannon?" Hermione wondered.

"Beat up?" Harry repeated.

"Tomato?" Ron whimpered.

"You don't need to beat up anybody," Al replied. His voice was unusually sharp and clipped. Something was bothering him.

Then Hermione—Merlin bless that girl—stepped in and put an end to the immense awkwardness. She turned to Al and the portrait. "Maybe the two of you want to catch up in the other room?" She turned to face Ron and Harry. "I have something I need to discuss with these two."

"Okay. C'mon, Brother, let's go."

**-0-0-0-**

Edward Elric had no freaking clue what was going on. He could hardly move and any memory that took place before the last few minutes was foggy beyond recognition. Then he had heard Al's voice, which had been a great comfort. Though it didn't make things any less confusing.

What was this?

"Brother?" Alphonse was giving him a sort of sideways glance.

Alphonse. His loving younger brother now trapped in a suit of armor because of their stupid mistake. He looked nervous. What was going on?

"Al—" he tried to reach out and touch his brother because none of this felt real.

THWUMP! His hand caught on something. An invisible wall?

He could feel panic begin to set in because something was very clearly **not right.** "What the hell? Why can't I—"

"Brother, stop!" Now Al was definitely nervous.

Ed felt a lump in his throat. His poor baby brother was scared and he couldn't even reach him. Pressing his hands together, he managed to transmute his automail into a blade.

THWACK.

Still nothing! What the hell was this made of?

"Brother…_please_…"

Al's voice was very quiet and scared. Ed continued his attempt to slash through the barrier, this time with renewed vigor. He would not let his brother down!

THWACK. THWACK. THWACK.

"Damn it! Why isn't it working?"

By this point, Al had already retreated into a fetal position. He was staring at the floor. His voice was barely above a whisper. "It won't work. You can't get through."

"What do you mean? Of course I can! No prison can hold me. I'm Edward Elric!" he cracked a smile, hoping it would cheer his brother up.

If anything, Al looked even more miserable. "No. You're not." The words were uttered so quietly that for a moment Ed wondered if he had imagined them. "You're a painting."

Ed thought hard for several seconds to think about what that could mean. Finally, he conceded, "I don't get it."

"I'm sorry. Please forgive me. I had no idea it would be like this."

"What are you talking about? Look, as soon as I'm out of here we can—"

Al stood up. Suddenly, Ed's entire word was shaking. Then it was flipped upside down. It was like Alphonse was moving a tiny box with infinite space. The entire ordeal was terrifying and surreal.

Ed felt bile begin to rise in his throat. "What's going on? Tell me what's going on! How…how did you do that?"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry…"

"Sorry about what? Al, you're starting to freak me out. Tell me what's going on."

But all his brother did was whisper the words over and over.

**-0-0-0-**

The trio waited until the door had closed behind them. Ron was the first to break the silence.

"Okay. Who the hell was that?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Weren't you listening? That's Al's older brother, Edward."

Harry blinked in confusion. "Hang on. _Older?_ The kid couldn't have been more than—"

"Yes, yes, we all know he's short. From what I can gather, he's more than aware of the fact himself. It's also possible that some of his features are exaggerated. Remember, Alphonse isn't a professional portraiture."

Ron snorted. "I'll say."

"We have more important things to talk about. And for heaven's sake, change out of those clothes, would you? You're going to get hypothermia!"

They complied and upon returning Hermione asked the dreaded question. "What did the doctor say?"

Ron stared at the floor. He didn't want to answer. Granted, he didn't quite understand what the diagnosis had meant, but it sounded far from good.

"Some sort of stomach movement," Harry answered. From his tone of voice, he also had no idea what it meant. "Hiatial hernia, I think?" He turned to Ron for confirmation and received a reluctant nod.

No reaction from Hermione. Ron would have probably been less nervous if she looked panicked.

"The term sounds vaguely familiar, but I'm not sure what it entails," she admitted. "Your explanation sounds about accurate, Harry. I'd say it involves a shift in the abdomen. Did the doctor say anything else?"

"We…kind of…ran after that."

Uh oh. Wrong answer.

Harry slapped him on the arm. "We weren't supposed to tell her that yet!"

"_Now_ you tell me!"

"We didn't have time," Harry protested. "If we didn't leave the hospital, there's no way we could've caught up with the patronus."

"Well I—patronus?" She stopped. Something in her gaze had changed. "Was it a _doe _patronus, by any chance?"

"Actually it was. Why? Did you send it? I thought yours was an otter."

"No. No it wasn't mine." Hermione looked pale. Ron took an unconscious step forward to catch her in case she fainted. Sure, leaving a hospital right after an unfamiliar medical procedure to follow a random person's patronus across Edinburgh seemed ridiculous in retrospect, but was she really that surprised they would do such a thing? A wave of guilt washed over him. Did their antics really make her that worried?

Carefully, Ron managed to guide her to a chair, but Hermione did not calm down once she was seated. In fact, she grew worse. Teeth gritting and knuckles clutching the armrests with enough force to turn them white, she turned to her friends. "Someone is after us."

"Well, yeah. That isn't exactly new."

She shot out of her chair, hands still clinging to the armrest. "I saw the patronus too. Here, in the forest. Whoever sent it must be looking for us."

"How can you be sure?"

"Don't you see? How else would the patronus know to travel to our spot in the forest and to the middle of the city right where you guys were. That hardly seems like a coincidence."

Harry's face brightened. "You think it could be the Order or someone trying to send us a message?"

She shook her head. "Doubtful. Our eagerness to follow it without question makes me think there was some sort of attraction charm placed on it. Why would an ally do that instead of just giving us information? More likely it's a trap."

Harry and Ron exchanged glances. Come to think of it, they were both inexplicably drawn to the animal. Ron had just assumed it was part of a patronus's natural element. But Hermione's reasoning made more sense; it always did.

But something didn't add up. "Wait, but if it's a trap, then why did it lead us to the sword?"

"What sword?"

"The Sword of Gryffindor."

"It led you to the Sword of Gryffindor?!"

"Did we forget to mention that?"

At this point her eyes were shooting metaphorical daggers at full force. "Yes. You did." Oh. Well he sure felt stupid now.

"We followed the patronus all the way across the city," Harry explained. "The muggles didn't seem bothered—"

"Muggles can't see them."

"Oh. I guess that explains it, then. Anyway, we followed it across the city until we were back in the forest. At this point we were starting wonder if it was a trick after all, but then…" Harry inhaled and paused for dramatic effect. Hermione tapped her foot impatiently. "Then we found it!" his face broke into a grin. "The Sword of Gryffindor. It was just…there."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Just there? No protection at all?"

"I mean, it was at the bottom of a lake…"

"Which would explain why your clothes were soaking," she concluded. They nodded in confirmation. "So what happened exactly? I'm guess you didn't get to it."

"Yeah…" Now it was Harry's turn to be embarrassed. "The locket kind of decided to strangle me and we figured it was a trap."

Ron did not like the look Hermione was giving them. "_That's_ what tipped you off? You suspected _nothing _before then?"

He shuffled his feet awkwardly. "Well, we know the Sword in the vault is a fake so we thought—"

"And you think we're the only ones who know that?" she was almost screaming now. Ron did not like where this was going.

"Hermione, listen," Harry was desperately trying to keep a calm edge to his voice, but didn't know how long that would last with the horcrux dangling ominously from his neck. "Why do you think the locket tried to strangle me? It must have sensed it was in danger of being destroyed!"

Hermione paused thoughtfully. "That might be the case," she admitted, "but after what happened in Edinburgh we really don't want to be taking chances."

Ron, who was only following about half of this conversation, stepped between his friends. "So Dumbledore thought the Sword would be safer in the middle of a random pond than his own office?" He knew the old man had been eccentric, but...

"Of course not. Chances are he entrusted the weapon in ally who would give it to us when we were ready."

"But if there's an ally of Dumbledore's out there who knows where we are, why doesn't he introduce himself? You know, actually help us out. It feels like we're relying on too much of a gamble here."

The anger glowed brighter in Harry's eyes. "Every bloody thing we're doing is a gamble! There's finally a horcrux destroyer within reach, and you don't even want to try and get it? What do you suggest we do instead? Wait around for Alphonse to figure out his stupid alchemy?"

"That's not what I'm suggesting at all! All I'm saying is that we should have caution next time we go back there. We should never have all party members in the water at once. Alphonse should probably come too, considering he seems to be immune to most kinds of magic."

Harry took a deep breath. He also looked a lot calmer now. "Good thinking. We should probably go tell him our plan."

"Give him a few more minutes with his brother."

Ron wanted to ask what the story was _there_, but he didn't want his friends to start shouting again so he decided to stand still and try not to cough up too much blood.

Hermione's gaze met his and he closed his eyes to escape it. Why did she have to be so worried all the time? Merlin, his chest hurt. Maybe leaving the hospital so quickly hadn't been the best idea. He needed to sit down.

As he pulled up a chair and did his best to swallow his own bile, Ron noticed that Hermione was giving him a different sort of look. He squirmed uncomfortably under the intense scrutiny until finally asking why she was giving him that look.

"I'm just wondering."

"Wondering what?" he asked, knowing the answer could not mean anything good.

"Bill's the oldest in your family, right? What year did he start at Hogwarts?"

What? Ron stared. He hadn't been expecting that. What a random question. "Uh...'82, I think." Where could she possibly be going with this?

From the way her eyes brightened, he supposed that must have been a good answer.

"Where does your brother live?"

"Tinworth, near the coast. Why?" The heartburn was growing stronger now. He never thought he'd miss Madame Pomfrey so much in his life.

"Do you think we could pay him a visit? That town is pretty isolated so we'd probably be safe. You could get some potions for your hernia. And there's something I need to ask him."

"What about?"

"Hogwarts's alchemy program. He was in the school system the year it ended."

**-0-0-0-**

Nott supposed he should have been thankful that the Potter brat never bothered to double check that he had obliviated all of the Death Eaters in the café. Somehow, though, he didn't feel too thankful at that moment. The Dark Lord was going to be furious when he found out what happened and Nott had witnesses enough of the man's "moods" to know that if he was unhappy, people started dying.

No bodies. No prisoners. Even the mudblood-lover he managed to hit with the hernia hex somehow got away before he could get to him. Damn him. Damn them all.

He did, however, manage to gather two useful pieces of information from the incident. The first was that Potter was alive and not working alone. The second…well, Nott didn't quite know what to make of the second. It was obviously powerful magic, something well beyond what the boy could have performed on his own. No matter how much he mulled over it, he could not understand where the brat could have possibly attained such an object; that suit of armor was really something. Complete resistance to magic was something even the Dark Lord himself did not have.

Slowly, Nott allowed a small smirk to form on his lips. Perhaps the incident had not been such a waste after all.

He would have to find out more and as much as he hated to admit it, he lacked the time and resources for such research. Of course, that matter was easy to fix.

"Nyx!"

Out from the shadows came a loud _caw_ and in flew a dramatically oversized raven. That bird was never far.

"I want you to take this letter to my son. He is in close proximity to one of the most vast library systems in the world. And, as much as I hate to admit it, the boy has a knack for research."

_Caw?_

"Hogwarts, of course."

* * *

**Wow. I got so many reviews for my last chapter, I'm sorry that this one lacked action but I needed to have the characters learn some vital information in order to set the scene for the next arc. Things happen soon, I promise!**

* * *

**Shadow_Pillow: Anytime.**

**Fandom Jumping Expert: You're right. It didn't.**

**urs-v: You're welcome.**

**Mysterious Prophetess: Yes.**

**Ai_Jay: I think the word Japanimation was used before anime (which just means animation in Japanese) was popularized in the west. **

**The Writer Es: Haha, maybe.**

**Blue Teller: Wow. Thank you so much for the boatload of ideas. Some of the ones you listed were stuff I was actually thinking of so you may see a bunch in future chapters where the extent of Ed's sentience is explored. What you saw in this chapter was just the tip of the iceberg and it only goes downhill from here.**

**Kenzie Perth: Yes and for more reasons than one.**

**Dana Sto Helit: Hopefully his reaction was satisfactory.**

**zealous_freak_27: Well, a form of him has entered, anyway. But you're right things are about to get exciting.**

**httpkirby: Hmm...maybe it'll slip out again.**

**Ambiguity in D Major (I don't know if I've told you before, but I love your username): Yeah, it'll definitely be something similar to that.**

**Selias: Yep.**

**yoyoma: I was thinking about that myself, actually, but I have a different idea that I'm really excited to try out.**

**Guest: Thank you.**

**Other Guest: Thank you.**

**Insanity_Pie: Oh DIDN'T he?**

**Manta_Cat: Thanks.**

**Sprite_Blazer: I will try not to disappoint. **

**Harrys_woman: Yep.**

**eha1234: Thank you.**

**Energy-the-hedgehog: He did. I thought I addressed that, but just in case I'll bring it up soon. Thank you for pointing that out.**

**HTTYD-PJATO-ROTG-41185: Well, you learned anyway.**

**calcu22: I have big plans for him.**

**The Almighty Pyro: Ed rants are fun.**

**reader: Thank you for letting me know. You are correct, I am American, though I've been to England before and I remember somebody using kilometers so I kind of based it off that. Maybe Hermione's parents are in the minority, then. I will definitely take note of this in the future. Thank you again.**

**morghan._horner: Poor Ed? How about poor Ron?**

**kK: Haha, thank you/**

**Morghan._Made._Of._Kandi: Thank you.**

**Mintress345: *Thinks about it and shudders***


	14. Chapter 14

**NOTE: A change has been made to my previous chapter during the Golden Trio's conversation due to a timeline error. A big thank you to urs-v for pointing out that by this point in Deathly Hallows, Harry, Ron, and Hermione already knew the sword in Snape's office was a fake.**

* * *

"_Incendio."_

Theodore Nott kept his face carefully blank as the yellowed parchment crumbled to ash. Nyx watched him curiously as he poured the destroyed fragments into in his pumpkin juice and casually downed the beverage. He offered the bird some of his bacon as payment before sending her off.

Glancing over at Davis's still empty seat, Theodore couldn't help but mull over the fact that so far it had been a rather inauspicious morning. He could only imagine it getting worse.

Naturally, fate obliged. Pansy Parkinson, it seemed, had caught sight of Theodore's little charade and raised a suspicious eyebrow from across the table. "Paranoid much?"

Merlin, he was_ so_ not in the mood to deal with her right now. "I'm tired of Carrow reading my mail," he said simply, "and it's not paranoia if someone's actually after you."

"Why are they after you, Nott? Something you're not telling us, hmm?" She stood up and leaned over the table so that her ugly pug face was directly in front of his own. "Loyalties coming into question, perhaps?" Flicks of spit flew onto Nott's cheek and it was all he could do to not cringe.

"Oh, leave him, Parkinson," Daphne sneered, "he's not a traitor. He's just the only one with the balls to say what's going on: the Carrows aren't going easy on the Slytherins anymore." She gave a little nod in the direction of Tracy Davis's empty seat and to her left, Nott saw Bulstrode and Zabini visibly cringe.

Goyle's eyes were wide as saucers. "But…but they won't go after people like _us_…r-right, Malfoy?" He glanced nervously at his leader. Nott, too, looked to the blond (not because he didn't know the answer, but rather because he was curious how the "Slytherin Prince" would address it.)

Nott picked up a flash of uncertainty in Malfoy's eyes but it was almost immediately repressed. "Of course they won't go after us, you dimwit. We're not filth; we're the chosen generation. Trust me, Goyle. The Dark Lord has plans for us."

Goyle's face flooded with obvious relief and next to him Nott saw the shoulders of Vincent Crabbe begin to relax as well.

It was a ploy. He knew it. Malfoy knew it. And from the look on his face, Zabini knew it too. Nobody said anything, of course. They'd let the naïve remain naïve. Only the sharper pupils earned the luxury of life in a state of perpetual terror.

Because no matter how much they wished to deny it, they knew Daphne spoke the truth: their heritage mattered little at this point and no one—not even the children of the highest ranking Death Eaters—would be spared from Carrow's wrath.

That was old news, though. Theodore's mind wandered back to the letter. So his father needed his help, huh? There was something new. Ever since his mother's death, the relationship between Nott Sr. and his son had been one of disappointment and passive aggression. On some level Theodore could understand why. His physique—everything from his lopsided face to his atrophying muscles—left much to be desired. He didn't have looks like Malfoy or strength like Crabbe and Goyle. That much had been obvious since he was first able to walk. A disgrace to the family, he was called. A runt. A weakling.

His father was right. Nott knew that. Why else would he have to take daily potions just to ensure that he retained his ability to walk? The answer had actually come in a Muggle Studies class in his fifth year.

_Inbreeding._

The word rang in his head like an echoing gong of impending doom. And it was quickly followed by more dangerous and foreign-sounding muggle terms.

_Fluctuating asymmetry. _

_Muscular Dystrophy._

_Congenital heart defect. _

_Immunodeficiency. _

He only took the class in the first place in order to know his enemy. But what he learned in that class and the subsequent research that followed, only taught him that he had been going after the wrong enemy all along.

All his childhood, Nott was told that the muggles were the cause of his problems. They were the reason wizards were stuck in hiding and now they were polluting their blood.

Like any dutiful son, Theodore held onto his father's every word. But when he came across a curious footnote in his muggle studies textbook, things suddenly became a lot more complicated.

If more diverse genetics really made people stronger, then shouldn't wizards be marrying muggles? Knowing that couldn't possibly be the case, he had approached Professor Burbage after class only to receive a _confirmation_ of his suspicions! Nott immediately dropped the course in disgust.

_She's a crazy mudblood lover,_ he tried to tell himself. But at the same time Theodore had wondered whether there could be some validity to her claim. Perhaps it could explain his mother's death. Why he was getting sick all the time.

In the months that followed, Nott worked tirelessly on independent research. Books—volumes written by both wizards and muggles—were disguised and hidden away from his father and classmates alike. Nobody needed to know what was going through his head until he got definite results.

And results he did get. After nearly two years of study, he determined there was no way around it:

There were approximately three thousand wizards in Great Britain and only about a million worldwide.

Fewer than twenty percent were purebloods.

The Dark Lord was leading his men into a genetic death wish. And he, Theodore Nott, as the product of inbreeding and the son of a pureblood cult follower, was doomed to waste away at a young age from a disease that his father could of prevented had he only done some goddam research before marrying.

Of course, none of this meant that muggles weren't inferior. It was merely an acknowledgement of their value. It was a symbiotic relationship. Without them, wizard society would collapse.

The thought sickened him. When he finally voiced his discovery and that he had no intentions of supporting someone has idiotic as the Dark Lord to his father that summer, Nott Sr. reacted better than he anticipated. No curses or hexes were uttered. Merely silence.

This was the first time the man had corresponded with him since.

The letter was formal and without emotion. It simply told of a discovery and asked Nott to look into it.

_A suit of armor immune to magic that provides its wearer with inhuman strength. _

The possibilities were endless.

Theodore had no idea what such a thing could be, but the implications were mind-blowing. With a suit like that, he could catch up to—no, _out-power_—his peers. No longer would he be forced to live life in the shadows, hiding his physical fallacies from the world. With that suit he could become a figurehead. A god. He would be unstoppable.

Checking to make sure nobody was behind him, Nott headed for the library.

**0-0-0**

"Hey, Alphonse, I—"

Hermione stopped and stared at the sight before her. Alphonse Elric—in all his seven-foot metallic glory—sat curled up in a fetal position, rocking back and forth. His glowing red eye sockets were abnormally dimmed and gazing straight in what Hermione assumed was numb terror.

She followed his gaze. The painting was following it too and looking just as—if not more—nervous as she was.

"Alphonse! Alphonse, please, talk to me." No response. The boy in the painting looked positively devastated.

"What did you do to him?" Hermione asked before she could even think.

Ed turned to face her; his eyes were like daggers: cold and vicious. "What did _I _do? How about what _you _did? My brother is miserable because of what you did, you freaking bitch!"

Hermione was startled. Okay, maybe she hadn't said the right thing, but that was definitely uncalled for. And what was he even upset about? What could warrant that kind of reaction? "What did I even do?"

"Don't look at me like I'm stupid. You're the one who trapped me here, aren't you? What's the matter, scared you can't take me in a fight?" She shook her head. "Well, I would be if I were you, because as soon as I get out, I'm gonna kick your sorry ass! That's right, I'll rip off your feet and stick them on your head!"

"Ed, quit it," Al's voice was quiet but callously harsh in its nature. "This is Hermione. She's a friend. I've already told you that."

"You did no…when?"

"Only a few minutes ago. You threatened to alchemize a cannon."

"I did?" Ed gave a slight smirk and ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah…that sounds about right." The smirk disappeared and he suddenly grew serious. Ed tilted his head at Hermione and squinted his eyes, scrutinizing her in a way that made her uncomfortable. "Okay," he said finally. "I think I remember now. For some reason it's…it's hard to keep things straight. Everything's weird. I don't know, like, fuzzy." The smugness vanished further and was replaced with uncertainty. Then, he looked straight ahead and his temperament changed yet again. With a loud clap of his hands, a blade appeared seemingly out of nowhere (alchemy?) and he began what looked a ferocious attempt to slice through the canvas.

_This _was the prodigious hero of a brother Al had always gushed about? No. Al seemed just as put off by his behavior, if not more so. Had something gone wrong with the spell, then? A sense of panic began to overcome her. Was this whole thing her fault? Oh, she should have never tried making that potion! Even if she was the top of her class, it was just hubris to think she could concoct something most fully trained adults couldn't make.

"Hey, Al, what's going on? You know you can tell me, right? I mean, I'm your brother."

"No. You're not."

Ed's face fell. "There you go with that again. Come on, Al. Don't leave me in the dark."

"I already told you: you aren't real. You're a magical painting."

The atmosphere was beyond thick. It was almost tangible.

"Yes," Ed was speaking slowly, as if waiting for his brother to get to the point, "you already told me that, Al. And I already _told _you that I don't get the joke." He was sounding more and more unsure of himself.

Hermione was starting to feel like she shouldn't have walked in on such a personal conversation. Somehow, though, she couldn't bring herself to leave.

The Elric brothers didn't seem to acknowledge her presence. Hermione wouldn't have been surprised if they forgot she was there at all.

The two went back and forth more times than Hermione felt comfortable counting. Were paintings programed to deny the nature of their existence? With an exception of the headmaster portraits, she never really thought of the paintings in Hogwarts as being sentient enough to inquire on such a matter. But Ed certainly seemed sentient.

The more she thought about it, the more troubling the implications grew. Maybe all portraits started this way. Had the ones in Hogwarts just grown resigned to their fates of eternal monotony? It was a…disturbing thought to say the least.

"But…but how can I be a _painting?_ That doesn't even make sense! You're wrong. You're lying! I'm a person…I'm-I'm your_ brother_ for god's sake!" There was so much despair in his eyes.

This all was apparently too much for Al, who turned away at those words. His gaze met Hermione's for the briefest of moments and while no words were uttered, it was obvious they shared the same thought: _What have we created?_

**0-0-0**

Ron thought that Hermione had been talking to Alphonse for a suspiciously long time. Seriously, how long did it take to exchange one effing piece of information?

When she finally did come back, it was painfully obvious that something was wrong. If Alphonse's so-called brother had so much as laid a finger on her, he was going to—

"Harry, get the horcrux. We're going after the doe."

"I'm sorry, _what?" _

"You're staying here with Al, Ron. Give us a few hours to find the thing. Got it?"

Ron blinked. "What happened to 'we need Alphonse to hold the horcrux so it doesn't attack us when we try to go for a swim'? And why are _you_ the one going with him?"

"Are you suggesting that I'm less capable at this than you?" Okay. That was the wrong thing to say.

He shook his head vehemently. "Not at all. I just thought…never mind. But why isn't Al going?"

"You have to stay here before you can injure yourself further. Alphonse is not currently in a particularly…emotionally stable state." What did that mean? "I told him to stay here. The locket shouldn't attack me if I don't actually go into the water. It's technically a one person job. I'm just going to make sure Harry doesn't get himself killed or something stupid."

"Yes," Harry grumbled, "because I'm just stupid like that."

He was ignored. "When we get back, I need to talk to Professor Black. Afterwards, we can head to your brother's house, okay?"

"Um…sure."

There was a strange not in Ron's stomach. _It's probably the hernia,_ he figured.

**0-0-0**

In all honesty, Harry had been a bit worried that he wouldn't be able to find his way back. He was kind of just counting on the doe being there for them. It was only when he and Hermione actually stepped outside that he realized that they actually had no way whatsoever of getting to the pond.

It was frustrating beyond belief. They were so close to getting that sword, but he had no idea which direction to go.

He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. It wasn't much of a plan, but he honestly had nothing to go on at this point. Maybe the gods of fate would cut him a break just this once.

Against all odds, it seemed to work. Without anything more than a gut feeling, he somehow knew to travel north. It was like when he consumed the Felix Felicis in his sixth year. He body was directing his mind where to go.

"Harry, what are you doing?"

"Shhh...my patronus senses are tingling!"

Hermione gave an unexpected start. "Was that a Spider-Man reference?"

Harry shrugged, not sure why he suddenly felt embarrassed. "Dudley watched the cartoon growing up. And Mrs. Figg has a surprisingly elaborate _Marvel_ collection. She sometimes let me look at them in between albums of her various cats. It seemed cool at the time, you know? In hindsight, it's silly, but at the time I had no idea about magic or anything. The idea of a normal kid discovering he had powers was an attractive fantasy."

"Which version did you watch?"

Harry blinked. "What?"

"I said, which version did you watch? The one from the 60s or the reboot from '81. The animation was better in the 80s, obviously, but nothing beats the old theme song."

Was this conversation really happening? Was Hermione Granger actually comparing Spider-Man cartoons?

"Personally, I've always been more of an _Iron Man_ fan."

It was actually happening. The world had officially fallen apart. Harry snorted.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing. I guess I just never took you for the comic book fan type."

"You never asked."

It was true. He never did. In fact, Harry knew next to nothing about Hermione's pre-Hogwarts years. It was strange, really, considering how close they were and everything.

From Hermione's next words, it became obvious that she had been thinking along the same lines. "We never really talk about muggle things, do we?"

Harry shook his head. "Usually we're too busy discussing the way the wizarding world is actively trying to kill us."

"Good point. All the childhood stuff seems rather trivial in comparison. Still..." she smirked. "Tony Stark is undoubtedly a superior character."

"Against who? Peter Parker? You're kidding, right? Nobody's better than Peter Parker. He makes his own webs!"

"Iron Man makes his own suits. And those suits shoot lasers. _Lasers_!"

Spider-Man swings on the sides of buildings."

"Iron Man can fly."

And just like that, they had retreated back into the fervent mindset of bickering children. Peter Parker is an immature child. Tony Stark is a pompus arse. Peter Parker experiences real loss. Stark goes through actual character development.

It was almost surreal, really. Even though he was partaking in the conversation, Harry somehow felt that he was watching it take place as an outside observer. He never thought he would have this kind of relationship with Hermione. Mature, studious Hermione who until minutes ago Harry didn't realize had ever touched a comic book.

But then again, was it really so unbelievable? They were both raised in middle class British muggle suburbs in the 1980s. It made sense that their experience with popular culture overlapped.

He decided not to think about it too much. Best get lost in the moment.

But then She appeared, sticking her silvery white head out from the bushes.

"There she is," he breathed, hardly able to believe his luck. She had come back. She'd come back for _him_.

Harry stared at the creature, filled with wonder, not at her strangeness, but at her inexplicable familiarity. Just like the last time, the feeling grew until it was nearly overpowering. He had seen this doe before, hadn't he?

They gazed at each other for several long moments and then she turned and walked away.

"No," he said. "Come back!"

She continued to step through the trees, and soon her brightness was striped by their thick black trunks. He could hear Hermione panting, struggling to keep up with him, but he couldn't afford to slow down. He couldn't let the majestic creature leave his sight.

"Harry," his friend's voice sounded far away. "Harry…slow…down. I can't…"

No time. He needed to follow her. Needed to get to her. Everything would be okay; he just knew it.

Harry heard a surprised yelp from behind him. Hermione had probably tripped on a tree root. For the briefest of moments he hesitated, but then the doe once again filled his vision and he took off.

"Harry…the enticement charm. You're not…you're not thinking straight. She's not going to leave without you."

The what? Oh.

Yeah. _That_.

He turned around and saw his friend lifting herself up. He held out his hand and pulled her to her feet. "Are you…?"

"I'm fine. Let's catch that thing."

The two of them ran, his time helping each other along the way. The terrain was unpleasant, but not particularly difficult.

At last, she came to a halt and the imprint of the doe faded away.

There was a light layer of frost blanketing the pond this time. Harry moved forward, causiously. His face lit up when he caught sight of the familiar glint at the bottom of the water.

Hermione pulled out her wand. "Diffindo."

The thin layer let out a surprisingly loud crack when it shattered. Harry knew it wasn't that deep, but he'd still need to submerge himself entirely.

"I'll go," he told her.

Hermione looked like she wanted to protest, but it was clear she wasn't at all eager to dunk into the icy water. Slowly, she nodded. "Give me the horcrux. We can't have it strangling you again."

He complied and took a step towards the freezing pool.

"W-wait," Hermione called out. He halted and turned around to face her. Merlin, was she…blushing?

"What is it?"

The words were slurred together, as if she wanted to get the declaration over with as soon as humanly possible. "Your clothes will weigh you down."

Shit. She was right.

"Of course. Um…good thinking, 'Mione," he gave her a little nod. "Um…would you mind—?"

"—Not at all!" she eagerly spun around to face away from him.

This was so weird.

He stripped down to his boxers and took the jump. The effect was immediate.

Every pore in his body screamed in protest: The very air in his lungs seemed to freeze solid as he submerged to his shoulders in the frozen water. This was so much worse than yesterday. He could hardly breathe, trembling so violently he water lapped over the edge of the pool, he felt for the blade with his feet. He only wanted to dive once.

The cold was agony: It attacked him like fire. His brain itself seemed to have frozen as he pushed through the dark water to the bottom and reached out, groping for the sword. His fingers closed around the hilt; he pulled it upward.

Then, something odd happened. Just like last time, Harry felt something closing around his neck. But the locket was with Hermione, how…? Oh god.

It was his own hand.

He was trying to strangle himself.

With all his might, Harry struggled to pull away. As if fighting an imperious curse, his body pushed back against his will. _What was going on?_

Harry kicked wildly, trying to push himself up to the surface, all the while clawing at his neck. He struggled to keep his grip on the sword at all costs. He could feel his other hand itching to join the first. Sharp nails cut into skin and he felt a jolt of pain in his leg.

…_His_ leg_?_

Hermione was pulling him out of the water. Harry—with one hand on the sword and the other attempting suicide—could do nothing to aid her. Eventually she was able to drag him onto the muddy ground.

Harry was grateful he had decided to wear boxers.

* * *

**urs-v: You're right. Dang it, I knew something felt wrong when I uploaded the chapter. I always get annoyed when authors screw up timelines, so you can imagine how idiotic I felt. Thank you so much. I have gone back and fixed it. In fact, thank you for your honesty throughout this entire story in both your praise and criticism. It's always important be genuinely evaluated because it makes writers reflect on their work and grow in their fields. Once again, thank you so much.**

**Mysterious Prophetess: Good to hear. You can probably expect some more in future chapters.**

**Quint-Sphere: Astute observation. That was actually something I had in mind from The start. The irony will not be lost on Al, I can assure you of that. I'm glad you like my plot. It's a bit choppy, but I'm having a ton of fun with my philosophical and scientific explorations into the wizard world.**

**Blue Teller: Good point about Ed being able to describe the condition. He'll have to get over the initial shock of his predicament first, but that could definitely be something interesting. Like I told another reviewer, I've been using a lot of this story as a means to explore the wizarding world through philosophical and sometimes scientific perspectives. I think Alphonse (and now Ed) is a great foul for other characters when it comes to this and so far there seems to be an overwhelmingly positive response, which is awesome. As for Ed's surprise and confusion, it will soon be discovered that Ed isn't exactly a normal painting.**

**chica_alter_ego: Ed can, it's just not much use to him in the painting.**

** . : Nott is a high ranking Death Eater. His son Theodore is a Slytherin student in Harry's year. Don't feel bad for not knowing him; he never really does anything in the books.**

**Sincerely the Sign Painter: Indeed they are.**

**Sprite_Blazer: Unfortunately for them, their troubles are far from over. **

**Shadow_Pillow: Yes. Yes it did.**

**Rizaidym: Well, in six years of school how many times has it steered Hermione wrong?**

**Guest: Thank you. I'm glad you like the portrayal. And yes, they will be talking to Phineas.**

**Ai_Jay: Thanks. This chapter served a similar function to the last, but now I have all but one of my subplots set into action.**

**Manta_Cat: Indeed. As for the portrait, Al had no idea what to expect. He figured that since Phineas seemed content enough, his brother would be the same. Either that or the painting wouldn't be sentient enough to suffer in the first place. He just wanted to hear his brother's voice again and no doubt feels terrible now.**

**Kenzie Perth: Dun dun dun...**

**Yuyake no Okami: I couldn't resist.**

**Harrys_woman: To be fair, he's stuck in a pretty terrible situation. What exactly annoyed you?**

**Soul_Error_Arwitch: Thank you so much for the kind words. I'm thrilled that you enjoy this.**


	15. Chapter 15

"Petrificus totalus!"

After Harry's body froze, Hermione managed to pry his fingers away from his neck. That was close. Way too close. Merlin, what _was_ that? Had the horcrux been controlling him from a distance?

Something was wrong. She could feel it.

Hands still shaking, she yanked the sword from his grip. Harry's eyes—the only part of him that wasn't frozen—watched her curiously. The color was slowly returning to his face as his blood circulation returned to normal. She let out a loud exhale of relief.

Hermione's only personal experience with petrification had been from a Basilisk in her second year. It had been like being asleep with occasional bouts of consciousness that felt like the inside of an icebox. From her readings, though, _petrificus totalus_ was completely different in nature; there were no painful side effects and the victim remained conscious throughout the spell's duration.

Putting the sword down, she turned to face her frozen friend. "One blink for yes, two blinks for no. Make sense?"

Blink.

"You understand that I'm just doing this as a precaution. I'll release you in a minute."

Blink.

"Okay…um…do you know what just happened?"

Blink. Blink.

"Was it within your control?"

Blink. Blink.

"If I let you go now, do you think you'll be able to…avoid strangling yourself?"

Blink.

"Okay." She pulled out her way and murmured a counter curse. She threw a pile of clothes at him. "Do yourself a favor." Harry blushed and mumbled a thank you as he quickly dressed himself.

Why had Harry reacted that way? He had taken the locket off, hadn't he? Was it something in the sword, then? What could it be?

"…Do it."

Hermione realized that Harry had been speaking to her. "Sorry, what was that?"

"I said that I think you should do it. You should destroy the horcrux."

Hermione hesitated. She wanted to refuse. Harry had found the sword, so he should have been the one to use it. But at the same time, Hermione realized the dangers of letting her friend hold the Sword right after such an incident. As of now, Harry was unpredictable. Dangerous. He'd nearly killed himself with his bare hands, Merlin knew what he'd be able to do to himself—and to her—with an all-powerful, goblin-weld weapon.

"Tell me when."

Harry focused on the vaguely snake-like carving on the locket. "One…two…three…_open_."

The last word came out as a hiss and a snarl and the golden doors of the locket swung wide with a little click.

Behind both of the glass windows with blinked a living eye, dark and handsome. Probably what Tom Riddle's eyes had looked like before he turned them scarlet and slit-pupiled if Harry's description was anything to go by.

"Stab," Harry said, holding the locket steady on a rock.

Hermione bent down and picked up the sword. It was heavy, but maneuverable. It vaguely reminded her of the summer her dad had attempted to teach her fencing. Her six-year-old self had been scarcely larger than the épée blade. She hadn't been very good at the sport, but the memory of its experience filled her with a sort of pleasant nostalgia. For a moment, she smiled.

Then a voice hissed from out of the Horcrux.

_"I have seen your heart and it is mine."_

"Don't listen to it!" Harry said harshly. "Stab it!"

Stab? Right, stab! She held the weapon high, preparing to plunge it into the artifact that had caused her so much trouble and anguish.

_"I have seen your dreams, Hermione Granger, and I have seen your fears. All you desire is possible, but all that you dread is also possible…."_

"Stab!" shouted Harry; his voice echoed off the surrounding trees, the sword point trembled, and Hermione gazed down into Riddle's eyes.

"Forgotten by parents, unloved by so-called friends…and now second in brains to a tin can. Not athletic, not attractive, eternally overshadowed…"

"Hermione, stab it now!" Harry bellowed.

Out of the locket's two windows, out of the eyes, there bloomed, like two grotesque bubbles, the heads, Harry, Ron, and Alphonse, weirdly distorted.

She yelped in surprise and took a step back, nearly dropping the sword. Harry screamed as if he'd been burned and pulled his hands away from the locket.

Riddle-Harry looked down at Hermione with an expression of annoyance. _"Oh. It's _you._ What are_ you_ doing here?"_

Riddle-Ron gave a disturbingly Malfoy-like snort. "_Who needs you now that we have_ him?" he jabbed his thumb at Alphonse. _"He's ten times as powerful and million times more brilliant."_

_"Sorry, Hermione. I really thought you could bring my brother back. I guess I shouldn't have trusted you with such a complicated task. I forget that not everyone is as scientifically literate as me."_

"Hermione, they're lying. Don't listen to them!"

The image shifted again. This time is portrayed a middle aged man with receding dark hair and woman with curly locks that fell to her shoulders.

Her throat felt abnormally dry. "…Mum? Dad?"

"They're not actually here. You need to stab the locket!"

But Hermione stood still, utterly transfixed.

_"Hermione? I'm sorry, the name doesn't ring a bell. Was she one of my patients?"_

_"You must be mistaking us for someone else. You see, my wife and I don't _have_ a child."_

Her parents. The ones who had raised her and cared for her, who were always proud of her even when they didn't understand what was going on.

The memory charm had been necessary, but in Hermione's mind it was probably the hardest thing she ever had to do. She didn't even know if it was reversible. If they would ever remember having a daughter again.

The sword flashed. There was a clang of metal and a long, drawn-out scream.

The monstrous versions of her parents were gone. There was only Harry, staring down at the shattered remains on the flat rock.

"You did good."

_Well_, her mind corrected instinctively. But instead she gave him a wordless nod and the two made their way back to the tent together.

**0-0-0**

That horrid boy was back again for his potion. Merlin, if there was anything else to do in that god-forsaken castle, Phineas would have thrown himself in headfirst. But of course there wasn't. Phineas would have slept like his fellow portraits, were it anyone but Him who showed up. Something about that child deeply unnerved him, which was disconcerting, because Phineas had been sure he would never be in a state such nausea again after the death of his physical body.

He observed the child out of the corner of his eye, while he waiting for the Headmaster Snape to attend to him.

_You're not fooling anyone with that innocent look, you manky little twit. _

Perhaps the most perturbing part of it all was that Phineas wasn't even sure what he had against the child (other than the fact he was a child, of course.) Nott held all of Slytherin's admirable traits—he was motivated, collected, and if the headmaster was to be believed, quite intelligent beneath his unseemly appearance, not to mention pure-blooded as they came.

His attention was quickly shifted when the Headmaster entered the room. Carefully feigning sleep, he peeked out of the corner of his eye to observe the scene.

Nott stood up automatically, hands folded behind his back. "Sir," he greeted with a little bow of his head.

"You're here for your potion, I presume?"

"Yes sir."

"Wait here while I fetch it from my cabinet. Don't touch anything." Snape did not wait for a response before spinning around and making his way over to the other side of the room, his long cloak flowing behind him in its classic, bat-like fashion.

The boy dutifully stood still as he watched the Headmaster pull out the selected vial. But as Snape moved to hand it over, Nott spoke up. "Sir, is there any word of when Miss Davis will be returning?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Not to my knowledge, no. She is still in St. Mungos in critical condition." Theodore's shoulders visibly sagged in disappointment, an act that did not escape the Headmaster's eye. "Will there be anything else, Mr. Nott?"

"Just one more inquiry, if I may, Headmaster." Snape nodded for him to proceed. "It's just…" Theodore looked down at the vial. "I was wondering if maybe...maybe you were doing something different with the potion? They…they don't seem to be working as well as they used to. You see, my muscles have been acting up again and I've…"

The Headmaster's eyes grew sharp. When he spoke next, his voice had a dangerous hiss to it. "Are you accusing me of using anything but the finest quality ingredients and utmost diligence in preparation?"

"N-Not at all, Sir. I was just wondering—"

"I'm surprised you haven't figured it out yourself, given your high marks. Have you yet to reach the immune system yet in your copious hours of research into _muggle medicine_?"

Nott took a step back, his face waning considerably. "Sir, I have no idea what you're—"

"Is that so? Hand me the book you are holding."

"This one, Sir?" he asked, passing over the copy with trembling hands. Phineas wasn't able to make out the title, but he knew the binding well enough. Every other student carried the ludicrous volume with them.

The portrait's suspicions were only confirmed when the Headmaster read the title aloud. "_Quidditch Through the Ages_," he declared dryly. Snape pressed his wand to the book and the change was immediate: the binding shifted and grew, turning from leather to a thickish sort of paper.

Poor Nott was spluttering at this point. "B-but how...how did you…?"

"Did you really think you were the first student who thought he could get under my nose with a simple concealment charm?" For a moment, Theodore hesitated and even Phineas was inclined to feel a bit of sympathy for the boy as he squirmed under the Headmaster's gaze. "You are fortunate that it was me who found this and not one of the Carrows."

"Sir, I—"

_"Incendio."_ The book caught fire and Nott watched with horrified eyes as turned to ash.

"Do you simply have no sense of self-preservation, Nott? Should I just hand you over to the Dark Lord this minute? From the way you're behaving, I would imagine you are rather eager for an early grave." Theodore flinched, but Snape was far from finished. He began pacing across the office in almost military-like fashion, but his voice remained just as icy as ever. "I don't know if you're aware, Nott, but there has been an incident regarding your father and…well, let's just say he and the Dark Lord are not on the best of terms anymore."

"You mean the coffee shop incident," Theodore clarified. "The one with Potter and that suit of armor."

Snape whirled around to face him, pulling out his wand in one quick motion. "How did you know about that? And what is this about a suit of armor?" He dug the wand's tip into the hollow of Theodore's throat. "Start talking. _Now_."

Nott's eyes widened, too late realizing his mistake. "My father didn't mention the armor at the debriefing, did he, Sir?"

There was a knock at the door and both men froze.

"Headmaster," came a voice. "There is something I need to speak with you about."

Snape's grip loosened on Theodore's shirt, before letting go entirely. "Come in, Minerva."

Nott wasted no time. As soon as the door opened, he bolted out.

While Snape spoke to McGonagall—nothing all that interesting, just something about Alecto Carrow killing some student's cat—he was finally able to process what he had heard.

Nott, the child of one of Britain's most prestigious pureblood lines, was sneaking muggle books into the school. Phineas knew there was something he didn't like about the boy since he first laid eyes on him.

But more intriguing was definitely the story about the armor. He'd heard about the coffee shop break in—who hadn't? Whenever news managed to reach even one of the school's portraits, it was inevitable that all of them would know within the hour.

Armor was impractical in dueling because it restricted movements too much. Unless it was magically enhanced, of course. Maybe they had put the muggle boy inside of it for protection? With a gasp, Phineas recalled the strange, almost-metallic echoing sound that emitted when Alphonse had spoken to him. He was tempted to mention something to the Headmaster, but decided better of it. No one needed to know that he was eavesdropping on private conversations. At least not yet.

And hearing someone calling him from far away, Phineas let out a sigh and decided to find out what the idiots had done this time.

**0-0-0**

"You did _what?" _Phineas wasn't even pretending to hide his shock at this point.

Al shifted uncomfortably. He wasn't taking the news well. "Is that bad?"

"No, no, not bad," the man mumbled. "All you did was manage to create one of the most unstable pieces of dark magic in existence."

Hermione looked near tears. "I don't understand what the problem is," she said. "I…I followed all of the instructions. There shouldn't have been any—"

"Don't you know anything?" he snapped. "A blood relative is never supposed to create the physical painting of a family member." Phineas stood up and disappeared from his frame. Al was about to ask where he had gone, when he heard a small cry of surprise coming from the canvas he was holding.

Ed's hair spike stood up in alarm (did it always do that?) when he caught sight of Professor Black entering his painting. "WHAT THE HELL? HOW DID YOU…? GET OUT! GET OUT! THIS IS PRIVATE PROPERTY!"

"Insolent child," Phineas muttered.

"How the hell did you get in? I've spent the last day trying to get out!"

Phineas, apparently deciding he had had enough, turned to leave. In a move of desperation, Ed jumped in front to block his path. Being blindfolded, Phineas plowed straight into him, sending both tumbling to the ground. After a few choice words, the older man picked himself up and exited to his own domain.

A panicked look came onto Ed's face. "Wait!" his hand reached out into the vast whiteness of the canvass background. "Don't go. Please—tell me how to get out of here."

Once back in his respective portrait, Phineas resumed his lecture. "Even the most novice wizard knows that magic is primarily fueled by emotion. When a blood relative creates a magical portrait of a loved one, it is often the case that too much emotion is invested."

Hermione furrowed her brow in confusion. "I don't understand. Is that a bad thing?"

"Let me finish before asking questions, you simple-minded mudblood."

Ron's eyes flashed dangerously, but Harry managed to hold him back.

"A magical painting is not intended to be a fully sentient being," Ed growled at the sound of those words and Hermione moved to place the painting into a different room, "merely an impression of a memory with little to no three dimensional personality. After all, what kind of life would that be for the painting? We Headmaster portraits happen to be exceptions to this rule and are created through different means entirely," Phineas stiffened his shoulders with unconcealed pride.

"And my brother?"

"I strongly suggest you stop referring to that thing as your brother. As for what happens, it's simple enough; his personality is held together by your emotions and memories interwoven with the mudblood's mediocre quality potion. Due to your carelessness, the "threads" so to speak, are already loose. The painting is less self aware than a human being, but far more sentient than your average portrait and significantly unstable in terms of impulse and emotions. Creating these half-being was actually quite popular as a form of revenge in my family's history."

"That's barbaric!" Hermione cried.

"Indeed it was. That's why it was so effective. Most ended up going mad within the hour."

Al felt a new wave of guilt wash over him. "What can I do?"

"If you want my advice, I suggest you burn the painting before getting too attached. It's probably the most humane option out there."

"Never!" Al growled, fists clenching in anger. "There…there _has _to be another way. I won't kill a sentient being because of my mistake. I WON'T."

Phineas appeared momentarily taken aback by the sudden torrent of emotion, but he quickly collected himself and gave Al a nonchalant shrug. "Suit yourself. If you wish to hide from responsibility that's your choice."

It was only after Phineas disappeared that Alphonse noticed his entire body was trembling.

He was a monster: without thinking through the possible consequences, he had created a sentient being complete with false memories and attachments. A puppet. A shadow of a living person crafted to fit his needs.

The irony was certainly not lost on him.

* * *

**Ambiguity in D Major: Yeah, that was not the case. You're welcome for that awesome fanfiction idea, though.**

**Tokyo_ghoul_fan_4_life: Wow. Thank you so much.**

**Soul_Error_Arwitch: Yeah. Inbreeding in the wizard world is something I'd really like to explore in a different story. We know little about Theodore Nott from the books, so he seemed like a good candidate. And yes, Ed's threat was fantastic. It was actually taken straight from the original anime ("Flame vs Fullmetal," I believe.)**

**urs-v: With Al's guilty conscious, he might never forgive himself. And good point about the clothes.**

**The Writer Es: Thanks. And you will be seeing more of him.**

**Guest: I'm glad you like the story. Hopefully the circumstances surrounding Ed satisfied you.**

**Ai_Jay: Hopefully things are clearer now.**

**http_kirby: Trust me, you were not the only one who considered that.**

**Blue Teller: Thank you. It's always great to hear that people enjoy my sadism when it comes to fandom characters.**

**Morghan._Made._Of._Kandi: Thank you.**

**Guests: Hmm...not the direction I was planning on going in, but interesting.**

**eha_1234: Thanks.**

**Harrys_woman: Fair enough. Glad you like the story.**

**Midna_18: Thank you.**


	16. Chapter 16

Alone. He needed to be alone. It didn't matter where he went; he just needed to get away from people. No one was ever in the dorms this time of day, so Theodore figured it was as safe a place as any to go.

He glared at a couple of second year Hufflepuffs who eyed him nervously in the corridor. The two immediately scampered away.

He wasn't getting there fast enough. Against his better judgment, he broke into a sprint for the dungeons. At this point he no longer cared about being inconspicuous. People would say what they would about him; the Light side how he was a silent killer with a heart of stone and the Dark how he was a disgrace to his name. None of that mattered now. He was dying. He, Theodore Nott, was wasting away at the seventeen because his stupid immune system couldn't keep its shit together.

Nott wondered briefly how Snape knew so much about muggle science in the first place. The man was a pure-blood, wasn't he? Come to think of it, the topic of his family never came up. Maybe the Headmaster had some hidden muggle relations in his blood. The thought was intriguing, but his attention was quickly shifted when he came face to face with the Common Room portrait. He muttered the password and was admitted impassively.

Theodore had always liked their Common Room. The overlapping with the lake gave the place a subtle tinge of green that went along nicely with their leather sofas. Nott had never been one for interior decorating but it was undeniable that something about the place was special. He was going to miss it next year.

This was no time for sentimentality, though. He had to get up to the dorms to do…whatever. He wasn't even sure. After such a day, all Theodore really fancied was a nap. Up the staircase, into the sleeping chamber, under the covers, and he could pretend the day's event had never happened.

It was just his luck that he wasn't the only one with that plan.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Draco Malfoy—he was sure it was Malfoy, nobody else in nature that hair that blond—was staring out the window into the interior of the lake and didn't bother to face Nott when he regarded him. "This _is_ my room too, you know."

"Why aren't you in class?"

"I could ask you the same question, Nott. Aren't you supposed to be in Ancient Runes or something?"

"And aren't _you_ supposed to be giving the Cruciatus to first years with your bitch of a girlfriend?"

Malfoy's shoulders stiffened suddenly. Evidently, that had been a hard blow. Nott didn't care.

Draco, being the coward that he was, still kept his back to him. "Leave her alone. If those brats would just follow the rules I wouldn't have to," came the mumbled, half-hearted reply. He sounded tired. Everyone did these days.

Nott was seething. "I most certainly will_ not_ leave her alone. Do you have an inkling the magnitude of what she's caused?"

"She did the right thing."

"Tracey's in the hospital because of her!"

"That's not her fault. She saw a ruler breaker and reported the incident to the authorities. It was the sensible thing to do. Whatever happened afterwards is between Davis and Carrow."

"Carrow's a sadist. Even if Parkinson didn't know exactly what was going to happen, she had a pretty good idea. And aren't you the one who says we Slytherins are supposed to look out for one another?"

"She would have been caught sooner or later. The girl was in possession of muggle books, Nott. You or I would've done the same thing and you know it."

"I would _never_ turn in a fellow housemate."

At those words, Malfoy turned his head. "Rubbish. Why do you care so much, anyway?" Nott couldn't help but gape at the sight: bloodshot eyes sagged with fatigue and his cheeks were nearly caved in with emaciation. He looked just about ready to collapse with exhaustion. Theodore had noticed Malfoy had been losing weight—he'd been skipping every other meal since sixth year—but…Merlin….

It might've all those midnight raids on muggle homes; Nott couldn't imagine having much of an appetite after one of those. Then again, Theodore always had a weak stomach.

"Bloody hell, you look terrible."

He had commented on sheer impulse. It was unlike him, but at this point Nott was hardly thinking straight about anything.

Malfoy flinched and averted his eyes. "…Stop avoiding the question. Why do you give a damn about what happens to that filthy traitor?"

_Because those books were supposed to be for me and she risked her life to sneak them into the school. _"She's Daphne's friend."

The blond let out a little snort of amusement. "What a dutiful boyfriend you are, Nott. Funny; you never struck me as the romantic type."

"Not at all. I'm just tired of hearing Greengrass cry all the time. It's irritating as hell." He glanced at his roommate's bed and smirked at the heart-shaped boxes. "Got yourself an admirer, Malfoy? Does Pansy know?"

"It's Greengrass's stupid sister. She won't leave me alone."

"Astoria? You could do worse, I guess."

Malfoy flushed slightly at those words, which Nott thought added a little color to his normally monochromic complexion.

He needed to sit down. His legs were starting to ache. Nott limped over to the nearest bed, an act that did not go unnoticed by Draco.

"It's not too late to join up, you know," Malfoy's tone had changed. It was quieter now, more hesitant. When Theodore didn't reply, he continued, "We could really use someone like you…you're clever and…and stuff."

"You already know my response."

"But it doesn't make any sense!" he protested. "You're no mudblood lover yourself, you should be supporting us, not fighting us."

"I'm not fighting anybody, Malfoy. You should know my philosophy by now: I only look after myself."

"And Greengrass."

Another smirk. "…And Greengrass."

Malfoy grew serious again. His demeanor combined with his newly gaunt appearance painted the picture of an old man, not a teenager. But that's what he was. That's what they all were.

"But you_ would _be looking out for yourself. The Dark Lord rewards his followers. He could_ help_ you." Draco's voice dropped several decibels as he placed his hand over his mouth conspiratorially. "He could fix your…muscle…thing."

And for the briefest of moments, Nott was actually…touched. It had been the Malfoys, after all, who had first recommended Snape after his diagnosis. Narcissa had even paid for his treatment when his father was in jail. Draco certainly didn't know the extent of the illness, but as far as Theodore knew he'd kept his word and not told anyone about it, even thought it would be all too easy to demolish Nott's reputation with a simple slip of the tongue. Sickness was weakness. Vulnerability.

Could it be true? Could the Dark Lord actually cure him? He wondered if it would even be worth it. What kind of life was one in constant debt to a powerful psychopath? Malfoy may have been satisfied with an existence as a sniveling coward, but to Theodore it might as well have been death. There was no way he could rise up to the top in a position like that.

Nott regarded his companion thoughtfully. "In all honesty, from the looks of you right now, I wouldn't trust that man with my health. This Death Eater business is killing you, Malfoy."

The blond squirmed under the other's gaze. "You know nothing about what we do. I-it's an honor to serve the Dark Lord. I…I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Bullshit. You're bloody miserable. Anyone with half a brain can see that."

Draco didn't offer a retort. Instead, he returned his gaze to the window.

"She's going to London this weekend. Daphne, I mean. She and her sister are going to St. Mungo's to see Davis."

The words hung in the air for a few seconds before Nott realized Malfoy was speaking to him.

Nott blinked in confusion. "Why are you telling me this?"

"You seem distressed about Davis. I thought you might like to join them."

"Maybe I will."

Draco's head bobbed in a small nod.

"And Nott?"

"Yes?"

"When you see Astoria…thank her for the packages, will you?"

**0-0-0**

Edward wasn't sure why the others had removed him from the conversation with the old guy, but it definitely pissed him off, especially considering he was the topic at hand. Who even did that, anyway? Who the hell removed a guy from a conversation about him after the conversation had already started? Did they really think that lowly of him?

"We'll explain everything later," the girl had promised. _Yeah, right._ As if Ed would believe that for one minute.

He was indignant and insulted. Why did these people insist on keeping him in the dark like a child? Even his own brother, the sweet and caring Alphonse, hadn't spoken out on his behalf.

For perhaps the eightieth time, Ed skimmed the area of his prison, searching for a possible escape. Nothing.

How had he even gotten stuck in this weird-ass box in the first place? Why couldn't he remember?

"When those bastards return, they sure as hell better start explaining things."

For the time being, Ed decided to take advantage of his solitude and do some serious musing on his current predicament.

First things first: How had he gotten here?

Going through his memories for a solution did him no good. They were few and far in between. But maybe it was enough to piece together a picture.

"My name is Edward Elric and I'm…fifteen years old? Yeah, fifteen. I'm an alchemist. A scientist. I work for the military. My brother is Alphonse and my parents are…um…" His parents. Who were they? What were their names? Why couldn't he remember his parents' names?

_Okay, calm down. Panicking isn't going to get you anywhere. You obviously have some sort of amnesia, but it'll come back to you. Start simple. What comes to mind when you think 'Dad?'_ Vague feelings of betrayal filled Ed's consciousness but he couldn't figure out why. With mom the images were clearer. Brown hair, green eyes, and a smiling face. The image was hazy, but undeniably existent. And then…darkness. Misery. Determination. Something horrible had happened to her and he and his brother were trying to do something about it.

_She died,_ he remembered suddenly. _She died and we tried to do something and I lost two limbs and Al lost his body. _He couldn't discern the details, but things seemed to be coming back now. He'd just have to give it time and everything would work out.

But something still seemed…off.

When the others returned, Ed noticed that they all appeared ghostly pale (except for Alphonse, who didn't have a human face at the time being.)

"What happened?" he demanded.

Tomato head and Frizzy looked nervously at Al and then at the dark-haired boy, but no one spoke up.

"You said you would tell me," Ed reminded them, hating the fact that desperation was starting to seep into his voice.

"Um—" Al began, but the girl quickly cut him off. She stepped forward and looked down at him with a combination of sternness and pity. Ed automatically disliked her.

"We won't be able to tell you anything until to accept the reality."

More games. "Oh? And what reality is that?"

"You're a painting, Broth-Edward."

Ed raised an eyebrow. What was with the sudden name change? Alphonse always called him Brother. "Yes," he was quickly growing impatient with this charade. "You've already _told_ me that. Now give me a real answer. Don't just go around spurting bullshit without any proof."

The three exchanged looks and then the boy with the dark hair stepped forward. "You want proof?" he asked.

Tomato looked confused, but the girl's eyes widened in horror. "Harry, don't!"

"We're never going to make any progress if he doesn't get it." The boy—Harry—pulled out a stick. Ed studied it a bit apprehensively. Could it be a concealed weapon? Al didn't seem to think these people were dangerous, but Ed switched to his defensive position just to be safe.

"_Aguamenti."_

Water flew out of nowhere and onto the edge of Ed's prison. Entranced by the display, Ed reached forward to touch it, despite knowing that nothing would come through to his side. The effect was immediate: a sudden coldness made contact with his hand. Ed watched, mesmerized, as the peach skin began to blur and melt into the white background. There was no pain, but that did little to diminish the horror as he watched the color of his flesh stream freely like…

Like paint.

No.

Oh god, _no._

Ed felt a lump in his throat. He wiped his eyes with his automail hand and shook his head in an attempt to clear his vision, but the ghastly image remained unaltered.

The girl stepped forward and waved her own stick. His hand returned to normal. Ed felt nauseous.

So it was true, then.

"I'm a painting. A painting," he whispered, as if repeating the phrase would wear away the shock of it all.

Oh god, he was a _painting_. An _object._ And this was all possible because of _magic._ "Fucking magic!" Ed laughed, unable to take in the ridiculousness of it all. His laugh was shrill, unnaturally so, and as soon as he began he couldn't quite bring himself to stop until long after the earsplitting, discordant cachinnation seemed to fill the entirety the canvass's vast whiteness. Ed didn't know what the others were thinking right then and frankly he didn't care because everything he had ever known had just been obliterated the span of about two minutes.

Because screw science and equivalent exchange when you have pretty sticks! Screw logistics and transmutation. Equations and algorithms. Chemistry and physics. Screw every single goddamn law that glued the puzzle pieces of the universe together perfectly because _he was a painting and a couple of kids had magical water-making-limb-restoring sticks. _

And the worst part of it was that there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. Because he was a painting. And paintings had no rights or privileges. He would never escape his prison of white. Never explore or see the outside world.

He would never be able to restore his brother.

But in a way he supposed that didn't matter.

After all, paintings didn't have siblings.

**0-0-0**

Alphonse was inconsolable and in all honesty Ron couldn't blame him. Even after Hermione cast her silencing charm, Ed's near deafening laughter still echoed in his mind. And Ed was Al's _brother_ for crying out loud. Ron couldn't even imagine seeing Fred or Charlie in such a situation.

Harry and Hermione seemed just as disturbed as he and the latter took to hovering over Al like an overprotective parent.

"Are you sure there's nothing I can do for you?"

"Yeah. I just…need some time alone if that's all right."

Hermione forced a smile. It looked like it was taking all of her strength not to cry in front of him. "Of course. Take all the time you need."

The three of them retired to the kitchen area where Hermione took to furiously pacing the room for a good twenty minutes, wringing her hands and biting her lip with a look of intense concentration.

Eventually, Ron had had enough. "Could you stop that?" he asked. "You're making me dizzy."

Hermione ignored him and continued pacing. "Magic created that thing. _I _created it."

So that's what this was about. "Hermione, if you're trying to blame yourself for the painting, it's not at all your fault."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "There's no way you could have known."

The pacing came to a grinding halt and she whirled around to face them. "Are you listening to yourselves? Of _course_ it's my fault! I threw myself into this project without the proper research. I've destroyed one person's life and created another doomed to exist in misery."

This was bad. Ron never knew how to calm Hermione down when her temper flared, but he was just stupid enough to try every single time. "Hermione, just listen to me—"

"No, **you** listen to **me**, Ronald Weasley:_ I_ let him talk to Phineas, _I _encouraged him,_ I_ made the potion. I didn't care who I hurt in the process, I just wanted to see if it could be done."

"You know that's not—"

"HOW THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO FIGHT EVIL WHEN I DO THE EXACT SAME THINGS AS OUR ENEMIES?!"

Merlin, he couldn't remember the last time she was this upset. What was he supposed to do now? Ron knew from past experience that anything he could say at this point would somehow be the worst possible thing. Hermione had once said he had the emotional range of a teaspoon and Ron wondered if she was referring to times like this.

He looked to Harry for guidance, but he seemed just as lost. Still, he stepped forward and braved the verbal inquiry he knew the both of them were wondering. "Are we going to do it?"

Hermione's rage subsided for a moment and was overtaken by confusion. "Do what?"

"Are we going to burn the painting?"

Hermione looked horrified at the very idea. "Of course not! How could you even say such a thing? You heard what Professor Black said: Ed's self-aware. Killing him would be murder!"

"Professor Black also told us the kindest thing we could do would be to burn it."

"Not a chance."

"Then what_ are_ we going to do with it?"

Her arm movements were frantic and exaggerated and her fists kept clenching and unclenching, as if they were trying to get ahold of some miraculous solution that was just in reach. "We're—we can—I don't know. But we can't destroy him." Hermione's eyes were hard, defiant.

Ron recalled back when his family's old cat had been infected with Bicorn Pox. She hadn't been able to move for days. They'd treated her with every magical remedy at hand, but nothing seemed to work and at the time they couldn't afford to hire a professional to look at her. The decision to put her down had been painful, but after watching the poor creature twist and turn in agony for weeks, they knew there was no other option.

He cleared his throat. "You know, Hermione, Harry and I don't want to do this any more than you. But my dad says that sometimes the most merciful thing we can do is end it all."

"I _said _no, Ron!" Hermione stomped her foot like a stubborn child.

"Well, why do you get the make that decision?" Harry challenged.

"Yeah! Who gave you the authority?"

For he briefest of moments, Hermione faltered. "You're right," she admitted, refusing to meet their eyes, "the decision is not mine to make. Not alone, anyway." Hermione lifted her chin up and faced the others, "but Al would never agree to have his own brother destroyed."

"It's not his brother," protested Harry, "we've already established that."

"Ed's not going to hurt anybody. Can we at least withhold judgment for the time being? If you recall, there are still horcruxes that need to be destroyed."

This arrangement sounded reasonable to Harry and Ron, so the trio returned to their normal planning. There remained an unspoken tension in the room, but at least the quarrel had been alleviated for the time being.

"Shell Cottage is in Tinworth. It's under the Fidelius Charm, but I'm able to surpass it and then I can let you guys in."

"Excellent. We can go tonight."

"Why wait?"

* * *

**So many subplots. Though to be fair, FMAB had at least twice as many at any given moment. **

* * *

**Selias: He would require a soul in order for that to be possible and as of now the implication is that he doesn't have one. **

**eha_1234: Thank you. It was tricky to write, but I'm happy with the result.**

**Blue Teller: That's what I was thinking about, too. The Boggart was more than just a funny scene, it reveled a lot about Hermione's character, mainly how insecure she is. I decided to play off of that in this story. As for the painting, it has many of Ed's characteristics, but lacks the depth to his character. Paintings in the wizard world are intended to be impressions-caricatures-of the real people. Ed's natural tendency to think deeply and independently is strongly at odds with the painting's nature.**

**The Writer Es: Thanks.**

**Soul_Error_Arwitch: I'm not nice to my characters. I think that much has been established.**

**urs-v: Thank you.**

**Guest: Yes. Ed's naturally strong personality is essential to his character. This proves problematic for a painting designed to not have much personality.**

**Quint_Sphere: I guess Truth just decides to leave Ed out of this adventure. If you remember, Ed never dies from the incident because he is able to heal himself through transmutation until he can get medical help. I feel like Al was unconscious for longer. And yes, time does work differently here. I'm also not one hundred percent sure that there is a canonical connection between the two incidents. After all, Ed gets injured plenty of other times throughout the series and it never affects Al any other time, so maybe it's just a coincidence.**

**Mysterious Prophetess: Thank you.**

**chica_alter_ego: Thanks.**

**Kyuubi_No_Puma: Quite possibly.**

**Guest: Your theory wasn't bad, it just wasn't what I had in mind. And yes, things are about to get significantly darker.**

**yo_yo_ma: Yep.**

**Harrys_woman: Me too. Fluffy Bulstrode lived a good, long life. He will be missed.**

**Legendarily Quiet: Things will work out, but I can't promise it will be pleasant for everybody.**

**Keep-Calm-Because-I-Eat_HumaN: That was my intended effect.**

**Ai_Jay: The memory erasing is cannon in both the books and movie. Hermione modifies her parents' thoughts to make them think that their names are Wendell and Monica Wilkins and then has them move to Australia. It was a clever act in terms of their safety, but in my mind she kind of made an unfair decision by now giving them warning or a choice in the manner. Also, while Phineas is undeniably a prick, the trio would never willingly commit murder except as a last resort, so burning his portrait is pretty doubtful.**

**Dana Sto Helit: Thank you.**

**Full_Mental_Panic: Good to have you back. I was a little iffy with the transition in chapter twelve, so I'm glad to hear that someone liked it. Hermione just kind of returning to the tent was a bit anticlimactic, but at that moment the focus was on Alphonse (not a great excuse, but...) Ed's perspective was damn near impossible to do, especially in this chapter. As a painting, he lacks the capability to go into shock, so he has to take all of the news and deal with it at once. It's difficult to portray that level of emotion in something that isn't fully aware, but I'm glad I'm trying it out. And yes, three cheers for competent villains! I wasn't even thinking of the similarities between Al and Theodore Nott, but good point in bringing them up. There will definitely be some sort of interaction between the two, but I'm not sure how long it will be before that happens (in all honesty, I intended for the trio to be at Bill's house two chapters ago!) For some reason Harry has been the hardest character for me get a firm hand on, which makes little sense because he's by far the most developed in the books and movies. I feel that I've been getting better, though, so I'm having him contribute more to the actual plot. He is the chosen one after all. Phineas's perception of the world is undeniably skewed-that makes him all the more fun to write!**


	17. Chapter 17

**This chapter has a lot of Nott, but the next few should be almost exclusively focused on the trio and "Ed" and Al.**

* * *

Harry recalled one of Dudley's friends—a boy named Henry—describing his family's beach house to his primary school class. His cousin had demanded he receive one the second he returned home and promptly threw a tantrum of epic proportions when Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia explained they did not have enough money.

At the time, Harry hadn't really understood the appeal. It wasn't like he knew how to swim and Aunt Petunia despised sand in her home with a burning passion. A house by the water would be just like Privet Drive only with more things to worry about.

In all honesty, there was a good chance Dudley didn't know why he wanted a beach house either other than to make sure Henry did not possess something that he didn't.

But as soon as Harry stepped foot in Tinworth, he finally understood. One breath of the costal air and…well, it wasn't that his worries vanished. They just became less overwhelming, less of a burden. Something about being near the water was soothing, almost therapeutic.

The atmosphere had a similar effect on all of them. Ron in particular was hoping from rock to rock like a little kid, grinning in ecstasy. "This was my Aunt Tessie's home," he explained gleefully, holding out his arms to balance on the large stone, "we used to go here as kids during the holidays."

"It's very nice," Alphonse agreed. "I've never been to a place like this."

"I thought you grew up in the country."

Al shook his head, causing the metal to squeak slightly as it moved side to side. "We did. I'm talking about the sandy area where the land meets the ocean. I've never seen one of those before."

"You mean a beach?"

"Yeah, that." He bent down to admire a flower. "Amestris is landlocked, so the only water we get is through streams and a couple of lakes. But I like it here. It's…peaceful." He touched the petals gently.

_Meow. _

A little face poked out from in between the dunes. Large, round eyes and a triangular pink nose regarded the group warily.

Al stood up straight. "Is that…?" he let a little gasp when the kitten took a step forward. "It is!" he scooped up the tiny creature in his mammoth hands, causing it to hiss and nip at the large figure as Al pulled it closer in a gentle, but gripping hug. If Alphonse noticed the creature's discomfort at all, he didn't show it.

Harry thought it was an interesting dichotomy: a giant suit of armor and a tiny ball of fur. But from the looks of it, Al was no stranger to handling small animals and treated this one with surprising delicacy and care. Harry didn't know why he found the behavior so jarring because he knew Al had the capacity for gentleness and from the numerous transmutation circles the boy drew it was clear that his fine motor coordination left nothing to be desired. Perhaps it was the nature of Al's hands. Those thick, leathery gloves looked like they were meant to throttle enemies, not cuddle kittens.

But cuddle they did and after a few moments, the animal seemed to relax in Al's embrace.

"That's Arielle," said Ron, referring to the cat. "She belongs to Fleur. I guess she got out of the house. Come on, we should give her back."

"I love her," Alphonse gushed, rubbing the kitten against this helm. "She's perfect!"

"_Purr_-fect," muttered Hermione with a smirk. She cleared her throat when everyone turned to stare at her. "Umm…sorry. Let's…um…let's go."

But Harry grinned. There really was something about the coast that relaxed people. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this easy-going and to his surprise, he found himself laughing out loud at Hermione's terrible pun.

Bill would help them out. If he didn't know about alchemy, surely he was acquainted with someone who did. And at the very least, Ron would get some healing potions and the three of them would be able to help themselves to home cooked food.

He followed Ron with a bounce to his gait, feeling optimistic for the first time in months.

He should have known it wouldn't last.

**0-0-0**

Merlin, London was _crawling_ with muggles. Nott was unable to suppress a shudder of disgust. Left and right they marched in their trousers and jumpers and ridiculous contraptions. It felt wrong to be around them. It felt _unnatural._

And as they swarmed in all directions, he couldn't help but feel tiny in comparison. He knew that wizards were outnumbered by their nonmaigcal counterparts but _Merlin_. Theodore hated this feeling of vulnerability. Anyone could get him at any second out in the open. It was almost too much to bear and he had half a mind to turn back.

Something poked him in the arm and Nott responded instinctively by leaping into the air and fumbling for his wand.

"Sorry," said Daphne, scarcely suppressing a giggle. And even though the situation was humiliating, Theodore had to admit it was nice to see her smile. "I just wanted to see how you were doing. I didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't," he replied curtly, straightening his tie. "I'm merely on my guard. You can't trust these people. Muggles are a dodgy bunch, you know. They…they have automatic wands."

"Are you talking about guns?" asked Astoria, running to catch up with the older kids. "I know all about guns. Dobbs told me about them. She says they can kill a wizard before a curse can even leave his mouth!" The younger girl gave a shark-like grin.

Wonderful. The last thing he needed right now was another reminder of how powerless he was. "I wouldn't delve too far into muggle research if I were you," whispered Nott, "you'll only come to regret it."

Astoria's green eyes flashed with rage. "Bullocks! I refuse to simply stand by and swallow the shit those Carrows keep feeding us. And if you think for one second that I'm going to—mrphhph!"

Daphne had forced a hand over her sister's mouth. When Astoria continued to struggle, she hissed into her ear in a voice just loud enough for Nott to make out. "Don't speak so loudly. Do you want to get us all killed?"

Astoria's struggles ceased, but she continued to give the older girl a poisonous glare. When Daphne withdrew her hand, Astoria smirked. "I'm not scared of Alecto or her stupid brother." She cracked her knuckles for emphasis and Nott couldn't help but cringe at the sound of her popping joints.

"You should be."

Nott wasn't sure whether it was pride or stupidity that kept the younger Greengrass going. "Why? Hestia wasn't exactly much of a challenge."

Daphne and Theo stopped dead in their tracks. Astoria didn't seem to notice until she found herself several paces ahead of them. She turned around, bewildered. "Why'd you stop?"

"What was that about Hestia?" Daphne murmured.

"What? Oh. I just said she wasn't a difficult dueling partner. I mean, sure, the girl knows her way around in astronomy, but when it comes to practical defense she's clueless."

"You _dueled_ Carrow's niece?"

"She stole my sugar hexes and jumping snakes!"

Stupid, _stupid_ child. Sometimes Nott wondered why Astoria wasn't in Gryffindor. The girl was certainly idiotic enough to fit the criteria. People as vocally impulsive as she had no future in this kind of world. Her family's financial contributions to the Dark Lord's minions were probably the only reason Astoria was still around.

Daphne, on the other hand, was far from her loudmouth tomboy of a sister. While Astoria was an open book, Daphne was far more enigmatic in nature. Classy, yet unconventional. Cynical, yet idealistic. Like Theodore, she knew how to live under the radar. And though opinionated, she nevertheless harbored an impressive amount of self-control. Someday she was going to make an excellent wife for someone. And maybe, thought Theodore, in another world where he actually had a few more years to live, that someone would be him.

Unless, of course, he got ahold of that armor. Theodore was thoroughly convinced that the metallic enigma in his father's letter was the key to his success. The only thing that had been holding him back all these years had been physical weakness. With the armor, that problem would be solved. He could take out both the Dark Lord _and _Potter. Then everyone would have no choice but to follow his lead.

He wouldn't make the same mistakes as the previous rulers. No. Nott was cleverer than that. He'd be careful where he stepped. Every action would be slow and calculated. He'd gradually reintroduce muggles into the wizard world and swiftly eliminate any troublemakers on either side. There would be no more of this blood purity nonsense: merely wizards and non-wizards. Families that consisted of both would raise their children equally until they began to show magical talent of their own, at which point they'd be groomed for their futures. As long as the muggles knew their place, there would be no problem.

The idea filled Nott with almost uncontainable excitement. He knew how easy everything was to fix. Daphne would see it too, he was sure. Theodore hadn't actually shared his plans with her, but he was confident in the girl's ability to see reason. It would impress her; amaze her. Maybe she'd even decide to be with him for the little time he had left.

But he shook away those thoughts. He couldn't afford to lose his focus now of all times and places. Theodore stayed mostly silent as he followed the Greengrass sisters into _Purge and Dowse_ and through its window barrier.

Theodore never liked hospitals and did his best to avoid them whenever possible. He supposed he had his father to thank for his feelings. Nott Sr. never let his son enter St. Mungo's as a child out of fear that the public would discover his poor health. Instead, he hired a healer who was constantly under oath to reveal no information to his coworkers or the press.

_(Merlin, I need that armor.)_

On top of all that, Theodore had always been squeamish growing up. He didn't have the stomach for constant visits to the healing facility, which made him secretly grateful that his father was so paranoid about the family's image.

_(Should I be worried if it doesn't fit me?)_

But the few times he had been inside healing wards had been among the most unpleasant in his life. The moans of the ill, the stench of urine and vomit, the constant overbearing presence of death. He didn't know how people could stand it.

_(What will it feel like to be the one with the upper hand for once? Maybe I'll give that smartarse Malfoy a taste of his own medicine.)_

It had actually been one of the first things he and Davis had bonded over: a mutual hatred of wizard hospitals. A half blood with a muggle physician for a father, Tracy had piqued Theo's interest since his first year. It wasn't a romantic relationship of any sort, not that others gave a damn—even after Tracy's declaration as an aromantic asexual in fourth year, Pansy and the others continued to goad him and try his constantly fraying patience.

_(I will be remembered. I'll go down in history.)_

Much like Theodore, Tracy had tried to stay in the shadows as much as she could at school. She was quick-witted and focused, which made her an excellent study companion. She would be an ideal choice for second in command when he came into power.

_(But what if I don't find it? Shut up, I __**will**__ find it. The only others who even know about it are my father and the headmaster. The old man isn't nearly resourceful enough to track it down. As for Snape, he has enough power. Why would he want it in the first place? Unless he thinks it will help him rise in the ranks of the Dark Lord. Crap.)_

Theodore tried to space his breaths, but he could already feel that dreaded hospital stench invading his nostrils.

Astoria tugged on his sleeve. "Come on. She's in here."

St. Mungo's was loaded with war casualties. Only the most well to do families could afford private rooms. This of course meant that Tracy was lying on a second rate bed given only as much privacy as a couple of flimsy curtains will allow.

Not that it would have made much of a difference to Davis. Theo doubted she was conscious and judging from the numerous odd angles her limbs were at, she probably wouldn't want to be. No matter. The visit was only a formality anyway. A reason to leave the castle.

Theodore waited passively as the sisters spoke to the vegetative girl, an action he found completely pointless considering she couldn't hear them.

_(I'll have to make sure the armor isn't cursed before putting it on. Can't forget standard procedure.)_

Daphne stepped forward to tuck in Tracy's stupid toy hippogriff. The two had brought it from Hogwarts in the hopes that it would provide some comfort since she was used to sleeping with the stuffed animal.

But as the bed covers were pulled back, Greengrass let out a strangled sob. Confused, Theo stepped forward to investigate the source. What he saw almost made him do the same. Tracy Davis, her eyes open but unfocused, stared at the ceiling. Her nostrils were flaring aggressively, as if they couldn't suck up enough air. But none of that was what concerned him, no. Just below the philtrum, where there _should_ have been a mouth, was nothing but smooth skin.

Like it was never there to begin with.

_(What if Potter comes after me to get it back? Nobody knows the properties of that suit but him. I'll have to risk it, though. Potter shouldn't matter once I'm immune to spells.)_

"Carrow said if she was going to talk back, she might as well not talk at all," whispered Astoria. Her tiny hands formed fists of rage and Theodore found himself unconsciously mimicking her movement.

Somebody was going to pay for this.

Nott tried to distance himself from his person feelings. It didn't make sense for him to feel guilty. Davis was the one who volunteered to help out in his muggle investigation. She knew the risks involved, but she'd joined in anyway. It was illogical to place the blame on himself because she volunteered.

Though Daphne and Astoria didn't volunteer for anything. They didn't even know they were part of his plan.

Stupid conscience. Sometimes Theodore wished it would just crawl into a hole and die.

He felt bad about dragging the Greengrass sisters into this, but a visit to Tracy was a perfect excuse to leave the school grounds. It was an excuse that nobody would bother to track. At least not until he had a decent head start.

_I'll make it up to them later._

In all honesty he couldn't have asked for a better opportunity. Davis's father worked in Edinburgh, so even if he was spotted, an excuse wouldn't be difficult to forge.

Edinburgh was the last place the armor had been spotted. Surely something that big would have left tracks. His father even said in his letter that not everybody was obliviated on sight.

Victory was in reach. The world would remember the name Theodore Nott.

* * *

**Ai_Jay: I'm glad you like the subplots. And yes, Ed's reaction is fully intended to be disturbing.**

**urs-v: Oops. Thanks for pointing out the typo.**

**Selias: Perhaps, but in the FMA universe, the soul appears to be a somewhat tangible thing. Recall the limitations on the homunculi. They may be completely self-aware, but they can't bind themselves to anything because they don't have souls. I personally see Ed's painting as something like an advanced AI. Hopefully that helps.**

**Blue Teller: Yep. It takes a special kind of sadism to write fan fiction. Interestingly, I do feel bad for Hermione because she keeps trying to do the right thing only to learn that she's totally screwed things up. She's also the only character with enough general intelligence and knowledge of both the muggle and magical worlds to understand the true extent of the horrors that are taking place.**

**Guest: Please not that at this point the locket has already been destroyed. I'm glad you like the Nott subplot.**

**Mew_Scarlet_Red_fox_8: Thank you.**

**Insanity_Pie: It's an interesting thought, but like I told Selias, Ed's painting personality is kind of like a homunculus, or a really advanced AI. He's sentient, but not human. Souls cannot be created, at least not in this universe.**

**Evil_Fuzzy_9: Thanks. Well, this story is much more Harry Potter based than FMA, so that shouldn't be much of a problem. And don't worry; there is no shortage of Ron.**

**Quint_Sphere: Point taken. I guess I wasn't thinking about it like that. Either way, you're right that it doesn't really have an effect on the story. Thank for pointing it out, though.**

**Naosj: Remember Hermione's beaded bag had unlimited room, so hauling the painting isn't an issue.**

**Mysterious Prophetess: Makes sense. I'm probably wrong in my interpretation. Either way, though, Truth chose Al for this mission so it doesn't really matter how he enter Truth's domain, just that he did.**

**Guest: That was beautiful.**

**Guest: That would be cool. **

**Harrys_woman: I need to stop randomly killing people's cats in my story. It's making me sad. **

**yoyo_ma: That sounds...surprisingly accurate, actually.**

**Poppyflower of Stormclan: Thanks. It was kind of cliché, but it worked.**

**Magic_Writer_K: Thank you for your reviews. Your various reactions make me smile.**

**Random_Citizen: The confusion of fandom characters is one of my favorite things in crossovers. I'm glad you like the story and thank you for all the reviews.**

**miko_nenya: Yeah, it's kind of confusing. The real Ed is in Amestris. This painting is sort of like an AI with Ed's personality traits if that makes any sense.**


	18. Chapter 18

Edward didn't know how long he'd been trapped in the stupid bag. The only way he even knew that time hadn't frozen completely was because of the constant jostling that repeatedly yanked him off his feet whenever he tried to stand up. Ed guessed his brother must have been walking somewhere. He wished that he could just get a peek of the outside so he could have at least a vague clue of where he was. It was so ridiculously irritating being in the dark.

He banged furiously on the ground, but once again was unable to gather any attention from the outside. How the hell did he even fit into this bag, anyway? The answer probably had something to do with magic. It was always magic. Stupid magic.

_I hope Alphonse is okay. _

Damn it, why was he thinking like that? He hated Alphonse. That bastard was nothing to him. Why should he care for his well being when he clearly didn't care for his?

Ed stomped his feet some more, trying to cause as much of a ruckus as possible. If nothing else, he hoped it would at least irritate the others. Though at this point, Ed was beginning to wonder if they could even hear him. Maybe the stupid purse-thing was sound proof. It would explain why he couldn't catch the echo of Al's giant, clanging footsteps.

That would suck if it were true. It'd mean he'd been throwing a fit for who knows how long for no reason. Damn it. Damn it all.

A sudden rush of light flooded into the mobile chamber and Ed instinctively shielded his eyes from the torrent.

"How are you holding up, Brother?"

Ed didn't answer. Instead he took to throwing Al the most aggressive look he could manage.

The suit of armor giggled. "Oh yeah. The silencing charm. I forgot. I'll go get Hermione to undo it. How does that sound?"

Ed shrugged. He didn't really care what they did. What was the point?

"I'll be right back," Al promised, propping the painting up against the wall.

Al seemed awfully fond of this Hermione girl. In a moment of combined terror and disgust, Ed wondered if she was Al's—dare he say it?—girlfriend. She better not be. Al was far too young to be dating and he wouldn't stand for any fooling around. The next time he saw Frizzy, he was going to give her a piece of his mind.

Once again, the question surfaced of why he even cared.

Ed looked around. He was in a new location, that much was clear. Unlike the cloth walls of the unusually large tent, this room was surrounded by shell-covered drywall, its pale blue paint faded with age. (Although all colors that weren't his own looked dull in comparison.)

"Hey, you! Yeah, you. Blondie."

Who? _Him_? Ed scanned the area, searching for the source of the voice.

"Yoo-hoo! Up here, Blondie."

Who the hell was she calling Blondie? Ed bared his teeth. Luckily for the speaker's sake, he wasn't able to give a verbal reply.

"Leave her alone, Fabian," came a different voice.

'_Her?'_ _God _damn_ it! Why did people always do that?_

This time, though, he was able to catch sight of the speakers—two redheads in a painting like his own. They were vibrant and cheerful-looking; Ed instinctively hated their guts. Not that paintings actually had innards, but…whatever. He didn't like them.

"Hey, again!" This time the voice was right next to him.

Ed whirled around and gave the man a roundhouse kick to the head before clapping his hands together and alchemizing his automail into a blade.

The man got up, disoriented, but surprisingly unharmed. For a few seconds, the redhead stared at him, wide-eyed, before breaking into a crooked smile.

"That was wicked! Gideon, did you see?"

"Sure did! Hey, Cedra, d'ya see that?"

"I most certainly did. Get away from him, you two. He's probably dangerous. You never know where dark wizards might be lurking."

Dangerous? Seriously? They lived in a world as painted beings who couldn't be hurt!

One of the redheads bent down and, much to the latter's mortification and bewilderment, patted Ed's hair as if he were a cute little dog. "Aw, but look at him. He couldn't crush a flobberworm!"

_I knocked_ you_ out pretty easily._

"I don't care. These are troubled times. You never know where dark wizards might be lurking."

_Didn't she already say that? Probably a fluke._

Hermione entered the room with her wand drawn out. Then she pointed it at him and Ed found himself surrounded by an artificial light for a few milliseconds. She smiled sheepishly at him. Ed noticed there was a big gap between her front teeth, as if they were meant to be several sizes larger. "Sorry about that. You can talk now if you like."

Ed flexed his jaw a few times experimentally. "So it would seem," he agreed.

"Well, if that's all…" she turned to leave.

"…MY BROTHER ISN'T INTERESTED!" Ed shouted just before she reached the door. Hermione hesitated for the briefest of moments in turning the doorknob, but she made her way out as if nothing was unusual.

"Who was that?" asked Cedra, glancing uneasily in the direction Hermione had gone. "I don't like the looks of her."

"Don't be ridiculous, Cedra," said Gideon. "That's Ron's muggle-born friend, Hermy-something. She couldn't crush a flobberworm! Speaking of which," he turned back to Ed. "You still haven't told us your name."

Ed hesitated, searching his mind for names. Few came to mind, though one in particular radiated power and control: Mustang. And while Ed didn't exactly remember who that had been during his subject's life, he saw no reason why that should matter. He wasn't Edward Elric. Never was and never would be. It was time to start acknowledging that.

But as he opened his mouth to speak, the words seemed to trip on his tongue. "I'm M-Ed." So that was it, huh? He didn't he have freedom of speech? Wonderful. Just freaking wonderful.

"Pleased to me you, Med!" Gideon said, shaking his good hand enthusiastically. "I'm Gideon Prewett and this is my brother Fabain. That old bat up there is Cedrella and her husband Septimus," he pointed to the nagging woman from before and another redhead next to her. "And this bloke is Bilius. Say hi, Bilius."

A middle-aged man hiccupped and waved in his direction. "How y'do, boy?"

"Fine, I guess," Ed said hesitantly, "I'm mean, fine as one can be after discovering his entire life is a lie and that he's really just a shadow trapped in a box with mathematically impossible dimensions and his free will compromised."

The others stared at him as if he'd grown a pair of bat wings.

"That sounds rough," Bilius said eventually. He held out his cup, "Would you care for some firewhiskey? Always helps me get through a rough patch."

"Eh, what the hell." There was a pause. "Well, are you going to give it to me or not?"

"Come over and git it yerself, y' lazy arse."

"Okay, I will!" Ed marched over to the side of his painting and hesitated, realizing that he had no idea how to do the travel thingy. What now? He almost entertained the idea of asking for help, but he knew he could never go through with that. He didn't need anyone's charity; he'd figure it out by himself.

"Come on, Med. Don't you know how to travel?"

"I bet he doesn't. I mean, look at him. He probably can't even crush a flobberworm."

"WILL YOU SHUT UP ABOUT THE STUPID FLOBBERWORMS, ALREADY?" The others fell silent, allowing Ed to focus on his dilemma in peace. There had to be some trick to it. Something he wasn't thinking about. But not matter how hard he looked, all he could see was the illusion of endless whiteness.

Illusion. That was it. This was a all an illusion. A trick of the mind. Nothing in this world made sense physically, so why should he? Closing his eyes and focusing on Bilius's portrait, Ed stepped into the whiteness…

…And marched right into a different frame! Ed grinned smugly and helped himself to the firewhiskey without bothering to consider if he even liked alcohol. Answer: he didn't.

A torrent of liquid spewed out of his mouth. "What the hell is this crap? Are you trying to poison me? What's next? _Milk?"_ Milk? Wait, how did that even make sense? Where had that though even come from?

Bilius, now covered in rejected firewhiskey, stared up at the raging figure in shock. "I was just tryin' to be cordial," he mumbled. "I'll take it if you don't want it."

"Go ahead. I'm not gonna drink anymore." But just before Ed returned the glass, a thought occurred to him. "Hold on," he said. "How can I even taste this in the first place?"

"What d'ya mean?"

"I _mean_ I'm a painting. I lack taste buds and a nervous system. This shouldn't be possible. It has to be another illusion. Which means…" he downed the drink again, more slowly this time. After the goblet emptied, Ed allowed a smile to cross his face. "That's awesome!" he exclaimed. "It tastes just like Granny's stew!"

"I…what?"

"The taste isn't actually there, so I can make it taste like whatever I want. How could you not know that?"

Bilius made a low whining sound as if he were a puppy who had just lost his favorite bone. "Can…can I have my goblet back?"

"What? Oh. Sure, whatever." He tossed the cup carelessly in the air.

Edward wasn't sure what to make of all this. _Everything is an illusion. Including me._

~O~O~O~

Hermione reentered the sitting room looking red in the face. Ron wondered what had made her so nervous. Had that stupid painting said something again? Why were they letting him get away with such nonsense? Ron was liking that Edward less and less by the minute. Sure, his situation was awful, but nobody had a right to be spoken to like that, least of all to Hermione.

_Maybe I'm getting_ _ahead of myself. I don't even know what he said to her._

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione beat him to it. "What is he doing?" she asked, pointing at Bill. Ron's gaze followed the direction of her finger.

Alphonse stood straight as a board as the freckled hands looked him over. Fingers rushed across the metal in a delicate yet thorough fashion, searching for Merlin-knew-what.

Fleur was standing in the corner moping. "'Ow come 'e never touches_ me_ like zat?"

But Bill Weasley did not appear to be listening to his wife as he stroked his stubble thoughtfully. "Interesting…most interesting."

"What's interesting?" asked Al nervously.

"There's definitely magic involved. Powerful magic."

Al let out a tiny huff of indignation at the trigger word. Ron still didn't understand what the boy had against magic. Were all muggles like that?

All things considered, Ron though that Bill and Fleur had absorbed the story pretty nicely. Throughout the tale, neither of them so much as flinched. Ron supposed it was a wartime thing; even if Al had made them uncomfortable, they couldn't exactly afford to be choosy with their allies.

Hermione reached out her hand to Al's armor plating. "May I?"

"Go ahead."

She brushed her hand across the metal in a similar fashion (though without the confidence his brother had had.) Pretty soon she started blushing again and she drew her hand away as if the metal had singed it. "It feels just like metal to me. How can you tell that there's magic involved?"

Bill shrugged. "After years of curse-breaking, you can just tell."

Hermione knit her eyebrows together. "But surely there must be signs or…or patterns or _something _observable?"

"Not really. It's more of a sixth sense you develop after long enough in the field."

"No offense or anything, but I'm a bit…skeptical of that notion."

"Me too," Alphonse chirped. "Everything has a source. Maybe it's the alchemic energy you're sensing? 'Cuz we have friends from Xing who can pick up traces of—"

"Alchemy?" Fleur echoed.

Harry nodded. "That's actually what we wanted to talk to you about, if you don't mind," he said.

Hermione took over. "There was an alchemy class the year you started Hogwarts, yes?"

"I think so, yeah. But I wasn't in it or anything."

"Did you know anyone who was?"

"Let's see…there was that annoying Ravenclaw prat, Golpalott. Nobody really else comes to mind, though."

Ron tried not to let his shoulders sag too much. So much for that plan, then.

"What about Beauxbatons?"

"What about it?"

"They have an alchemy class there. Don't they, Fleur?"

Fleur grinned. Her teeth were white enough to make her sclera seem grey by comparison. "Oui. Gabrielle is in ze honors class zere. She is very smart, you know."

Alphonse scratched his head. "What's a bow bat tone?"

"It's another school for wizards," he explained, glad to be the one to know something for once. "This one's in France, though. Not Scotland."

"And you're _sure_ it's alchemy that they teach?"

Fleur looked insulted that he would even ask. "Of course! Transmutations and such, yes?" Al nodded. "We 'ave ze best alchemy program in ze world. 'Oo else could teach ze great Nicolas Flamel?"

Al's body suddenly went rigid. "S-sorry. What was that? Did you just say there was an alchemist named Nicolas Flamel?"

"Yeah," Harry piped in. "He's the one who created the Philosopher's Stone we told you about. He died only a couple of years ago, actually."

Al stood silent for a few moment, seemingly taking in all of the information. "We need to visit this place. Where is it?"

"France."

"Is France far from here?"

"Far enough to be out of apparition bounds," Hermione replied. She turned to Bill and Fleur. "How are things in France?"

"Decent enough. You-Know-Who hasn't really traveled outside of England yet, so it should be safe."

"What about it has you so excited?" Ron asked.

"Nicolas Flamel is an alchemist in _my_ world. Brother and I came across his name in Central's library. If he's been to Amestris and died here in England, that means there must be a way for me to get home."

* * *

**ursv: It connects eventually.**

**lilac_lily_00: That's a good life strategy.**

**Blue Teller: Nope. That's sufficient.**

**chica_alter_ego: With his ambition streak one wonders if it'll even make a difference to him.**

**Alina_97: That's kind of the point. He's not a black and white character.**

**eha_1234: My friend and I are actually working on a story about that. It would greatly depend on the circumstances, of course (who has the head start, etc) but he's in favor of a wizard victory, but I'm in favor of a muggle one.**

**Kenzie Perth: You're terrible pun fills me with a combination of respect and disappointment towards you.**

**not_a_bot: I actually wasn't thinking about that. It's an interesting comparison, though. I like it. I think Nott's key characteristic is his ambition. It's so strong that he'll push away his rational and moral thoughts if he wants something enough. That's what makes him a Slytherin, I guess.**

**Guest: You and me both.**

**Cauchy: Yeah. It's not a big plot point in this story, but I feel that it's pretty unrepresented.**

**Ai_Jay: Thanks.**

**Yuyake no Okami: Yeah…I'm not exactly nice to characters.**

**Harrys_woman: Yep.**

**yoyo_ma: To be fair, he grew up in a pretty corrupt environment. Compared to Voldemort, he's a humanitarian.**

**Arwen Evenstar 241: It is fully intended to be disturbing.**

**White Wolf of Blizzards: She's unusual for her house, I will give you that.**

**Nuttella_Kittens: Yep.**

**Full_Mental_Panic: Rowling wanted to put a scene in the books between Malfoy and Nott. She says that he is one of the few people Malfoy genuinely respects. Yeah, in retrospect, I guess Ed probably should have come up with a nickname for Harry. Poor Ron, he tries so hard. And yes, I'm definitely getting more confident with my portrayal of Harry's character. I also try to make a big point about how Slytherins value their friends. They'll grow close to few, but those who gain their trust will receive their absolute loyalty.**


	19. Chapter 19

**I'm back from my unofficial hiatus. I imagine that most of you have probably lost interest by now, and I can't say that I blame you. I do, however, intend to continue this story at a semi-regular rate. **

**For those of you who stayed with me, I thank you gratuitously. And for those who have just found this fic, I welcome you as well.**

**This chapter is mostly dialogue. It is intended to push things back on track. More action scenes will be coming soon.**

**As usual, as reviews will be answered at the end of the chapter.**

* * *

"A way home? You sure?"

"As sure as I can be about anything in this place." His armor was trembling again; Al couldn't help it. This was as close as he had ever come to a way back to Amestris. How could he NOT be excited? He'd be able to see his friends again: Granny, Winry, Hawkeye, Mustang, Brother—Oh no.

Brother.

What was he going to do with the painting? Could he bring it with him? He'd probably have a hard enough time bargaining to get his armor self through the Gate as it was, and a quasi-sentient being would only add more to the toll. Destroying him was certainly out of the question, but leaving him behind also felt wrong. The painting was his creation, ergo his responsibility. He'd have to work something out before he left.

But even the worry of the painting's fate was little more than an inch in the back of his mind. He knew it should have been a priority, but nothing could seem to keep him down because _this was it_. He had finally hit the breakthrough he'd been searching for.

"It shouldn't take very long to find what I'm looking for. I just need a bit of information about the man. That's all."

"Fleur went to school there for years. She knows the place top to bottom."

Mrs. Weasley smiled, giving perhaps the fifth millionth display of blinding white teeth in the past hour. "Eet's true. I would be 'appy to take you."

"That's fantastic. I really appreciate it. Thank you. But if the place is as far away as you say, how is it we plan to get there?"

Hermione's shoulders slumped. "He's right. With Vold—uh…You-Know-Who on the loose, all the floo networks are monitored and apparation is virtually impossible to attempt over such long distances, not to mention if Beauxbatons is anything like Hogwarts, apparation onto its grounds shouldn't be possible."

Fleur shook her head, sending her long, platinum blond locks flying into the face of an uncomplaining Ronald Weasley. "_Ça ne sera pas un problème. _Leave eet up to me." With than, she ran from the room without another word.

The group looked to Bill for explanation.

Bill shrugged. "She's Madame Maxime's favorite student," he explained matter-of-factly, "getting her headmistress's assistance won't exactly be difficult."

"But Bill," Hermione protested, "bringing Madame Maxime into this could cause international strife. We wouldn't want to cause any unnecessary trouble for the French wizarding community—"

"For Merlin's sake, Hermione, it could be Alphonse's only way home!" surprisingly, it was Harry who voiced that comment. Apparently recognizing its uncharacteristic quality, he gave a shrug. "What can I say? He's grown on me."

"That may be, but it doesn't change the issue at hand."

More arguing. That seemed to be all Al ever did was make those three argue. That and put them in danger. It wasn't right. They were fighting a war; they had more important things to worry about than him. On the other hand, weren't he and Brother fighting a war of their own back at home? It would be wrong to give up and abandon him, especially after all Edward did to save him from the brink of death. Brother was probably searching frantically at that very moment. Or not. Al didn't know how time worked in between dimensions. For all Al knew, he could return to a time where Ed was long dead and homunculi had taken over Amestris and all its inhabitants. He could know nothing for sure.

But he still had to try.

Elrics were nothing if not persistent.

~O~

"I'm not coming back with you."

Daphne nodded in understanding. Few people enjoyed their time at Hogwarts these days so it wasn't exactly a surprise that he intended to bail. "Where do you plan to go?"

Theodore saw no point in spilling outright lies. "Edinburgh. Davis's father works there as a muggle healer of some sort. I was thinking that maybe I ought to tell him what happened to his daughter."

Astoria narrowed her eyes. "What are you_ really _planning, Nott?"

"I just explained. I—"

"Codswallop! Tracey's dad is a muggle and I don't believe for a minute that you'd go out of your way to speak to him unless you absolutely had to."

Great. Now of all times the girl decided to be observant. "Maybe my views have evolved. Did you ever think of that, Little Miss Genius, hmm? That people have the potential for reform?"

"_People_, yes. _You,_ I'm not so sure about."

Throughout the exchange, Daphne's eyes had been darting around the area nervously. "Quiet, you two," she hissed. "Someone will hear us!" Turning to Nott, she said, "If you want to go—for whatever reason that may be—I certainly won't stop you, but covering up your presence might be complicated."

Damn it. He hadn't thought about that. If he left, then the Greengrass sisters would have to take the fall for him. The Carrows had been reluctant enough to let them leave in the first place, but if they found out he was missing… "I won't be gone long," he promised. "I think I have a way out of this mess once and for all, but I need to follow this lead in order for that to happen."

"I understand. Try to be safe, though, all right? Decent company is hard enough to find these days, as it is."

"Speaking of unpleasant folk," he said, turning to the younger Greengrass, "Astoria, Malfoy wanted to thank you for the packages."

To Nott's surprise, she burst out laughing. "Why?" she asked, looking utterly bewildered. "They were all filled with dungbombs."

~O~

"Zis is the front hall. 'Ere ve have peecture of famous student Vincent Duc de Trefle-Picques. On left zere eez 'allway to keetchen. Right eez 'allway to dorms. I sleep in room vit five ozer girls: Monique, Lisa, Antoinette, Chloé, and Doutzen."

Hermione couldn't help but interject. "That last name isn't French."

"Doutzen is from Utrecht. Ve actually get many students from 'Olland and Spain and places like zat. Maybe one of tree students come from not France."

"Really? I had no idea the numbers were so high. That's fascinating."

Alphonse made a sound that seemed like it was supposed to be an interrupting cough. "Err…This is great and all, Gabrielle, but I really came here to learn about Nicolas Flamel and…"

"Hmm? Oh, 'eem." Gabrielle Delacour waved her hand rather dismissively. "Yes, ve vill reach library soon enough. Anyvay, 'ere is vhere ve gets our foods and 'ere is vhere ve stands during ceremonies. Zis is my table, zere is vhere my seester use to seet. Zis is my good friend Noeline. Say 'ello, Noeline."

_"Mon dieu, mais qui sont ces minables?"_

Gabrielle visibly blushed. "Uh…zat means 'it is nice to meets you.'" Somehow Hermione doubted this.

The trio continued to make their way forward, but Noeline apparently was not done speaking. She jogged alongside them and shouted in their faces.

_"Viennent-ils d'Angleterre? Vous-êtes des criminels de guerre, n'est-ce pas? C'est comme ma mère l'a dit! Et c'est pour ça qu'il porte une armure n'est-ce pas? Pour dissimuler son visage et ne pas être reconnu! Si nous sommes tous tués ce sera de votre faute!"_

_"Laisse-nous tranquille Noémie! Va-t-en!"_

Noeline made a big show of sticking out her tongue at them before running off.

Hermione ran a hand through her dyed blond hair nervously. They didn't have time to acquire polyjuice potion before the trip, so Harry decided to stay back with Ron while he underwent hernia treatment. The fewer iconic faces flashed about, the less likely they were to wind up in trouble. That girl had sounded suspicious, though. Hermione wondered if she should be worried.

Alphonse, as if reading her mind, lightly poked her on the shoulder. His voice was gentle and reassuring. "Hey, I don't think she recognized you personally. She probably says that about everyone she sees who speaks English."

"You understood her?"

Al nodded. The mental join made a tiny squeaking sound to accompany the motion. "I seem to speak most of your languages in this dimension. It probably has something to do with passing through the Portal of Truth."

"But what's—"

"Ah, 'ere ve are. Ze _Bibliothèque des Ressources magiques. _Flamel 'as 'is own shelf. Eet is in ze back. I vill show you."

Over the course of her lifetime, Hermione had stepped foot into nearly one hundred different libraries—she made a habit of making at least a quick stop by the library in every new town she visited. It was something her mother had been doing since the 70s (It occurred to her a bit belatedly, that she never had a chance to visit the Signet Library when she had been in Edinburgh. Such a shame, her mother had spoken lovingly of it in the past and she'd wanted a chance to see if for herself.) And Hermione liked to think that every library had a different personality to it. The John Rylands Library was austere and elegant, while the Codrington Library came off as much more tranquil and serene, with only a slight undertone of reserved aloofness. Of course, neither could compare to the downright intimidating setup in Hereford's Cathedral Chained Library. And she couldn't forget the open splendor of the British Museum's reading room, either. Most of their manuscripts were at least as old as the ones found in Hogwarts.

She thought Beauxbatons's library had a strangely enticing combination of styles. It looked like it'd undergone a number of renovations over the years. It had the colors of Rococo—pale blues, yellows, and pinks—with flying buttresses and Sexpartite vaults of the Gothic era.

For a moment, Hermione felt her air passages constrict as she bit back what would have been a rather unrefined squeal that she was sure wouldn't have been appreciated. There were so many _books_! She wasn't completely sure, but it appeared as though the Beauxbatons library outnumbered even Hogwarts's collection. Oh, if only she could read French!

"Zis way. Don't get lost."

Gabrielle was nice enough, at least. In many ways she acted like a mini-Fleur, but she was softer around the edges and less aloof. She didn't know just how much the younger girl had been debriefed on their intentions and in a horrible pang of guilt, Hermione wondered if she and Alphonse actually were putting her in danger.

"This place is amazing," Al whispered. He turned to Gabrielle and—presumably—told her the same thing in French as he ran his large, leather-gloved hand over the shelves, though such an act seemed unnecessary since he couldn't feel anything.

Gabrielle giggled. "Ve 'ave one of ze largest collections in both ze magic and muggle vorlds. Some _manuscrits _vere wreeten by Merleen 'eemself."

This seemed to perk Alphonse's interest and he asked her a quick question in French. Gabrielle appeared perplexed, but nodded and gave him a reply.

Hermione waited in frustration for someone to explain the situation to her.

"Hermione, guess what! Gabrielle says there's a collection of old alchemic manuscripts in the back and a bunch were written by Nicolas Flamel. I might actually be able to find a way home!"

Her heart was racing. Why was her heart racing? "That sounds wonderful, Al. Really wonderful." Was it because she didn't want him to leave? But that was illogical. He was her friend and she knew he didn't belong here; she should have been elated, right?

Then why did she find herself so desperately wishing these manuscripts were a dead end?

~O~

Having worked in the EC for twenty odd years, not to mention discovering his youngest daughter to be a witch, Tyler Davis liked to believe he had grown accustomed to expecting the unexpected, but he was still more surprised than he would like to admit when his marathon of _Star Trek_ reruns was unceremoniously interrupted by a series of knocks that threatened to break down his front door. Anticipating the usual overly eager salesman or missionary, Tyler opened the door with great reluctance only to find the panting figure of a teenage boy who looked about ready to collapse with fatigue.

Doctor instincts kicking in, he invited the child in at once and demanded he take a seat on his sofa. The boy staggered a bit to his seat, but the limping was relatively subtle; he had a good amount of practice hiding it.

"You're Tracy Davis's father?" the boy asked nervously after he had been handed a cup of steaming tea. The child scrutinized the liquid as if it were an unpredictable adversary ready to pounce at a moment's notice. Dr. Davis didn't understand. Did the boy assume he would poison him? Then again, he was from Tracey's crowd.

This couldn't be anything good. People from the wizard world rarely contacted him directly. And whenever they did, it was always bad news. "Yes I am. And you are?"

"Nott. We're acquaintances from school."

"Ah, I see. And what can I do for you today, Mr. Nott?"

The boy set the tea down on the coaster and began to fidget with his hands. He was desperately avoiding eye contact for some reason, which did nothing to quench Tyler's worries.

"My daughter—" the boy looked up. "Is she okay?"

Nott let out a bitter laugh. "That depends what you mean by okay."

Tyler's insides seemed to squirm with desperation. "Please be frank, Mr. Nott: did something happen to her?"

The laughter faded and died as a look of bewilderment crossed the boy's face. "They…they didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what? What. Happened?"

Nott wrung his hands nervously, but Tyler was far too panicked to feel any sort of pity for the boy. Frist his wife and now…oh god. Oh god. Tracy. What did they _do_ to her?

The boy licked his lips and smacked them a couple of times for good measure. Had he delayed for one second more, Tyler didn't know what he would've done. Maybe punch something. He was starting to lose his patience. Luckily for everyone's sake, the boy spoke.

"She's alive, Mr. Davis. Injured, but alive."

Tyler found himself jumping out of his chair and rushing towards the boy. Before he knew it, he'd grabbed ahold of Nott's jumper. "Where is she? Take me to her." The boy's eyes widened in surprise and what looked like fear. Ha. A wizard afraid of _him_. Well, that was rich.

"Let go of me!" his voice was probably intended to be an indignant shout, but came out as more of a squeak. Realizing what he had done, Tyler let go of the boy's shirt and muttered a lame apology. "Now look here, I don't know who you imagine I am by thinking I can take you anywhere. There are people after your kind. Murderers. It was dangerous for me to even come to you with this news in the first place."

"Then why did you come?"

There was a long pause before Nott gave any sort of answer. But just when Tyler thought he was about to lose it, he spoke.

"I need to ask you something. I'm trying to track someone down, you see, someone who might be able to help me. Your daughter and I were working on this together before she…before they got her."

Despite the dodginess of Nott's character and the vagueness of his story, Tyler found himself wanting to trust the boy. He looked so terrified that it made the doctor wonder what exactly he'd had to do to get here. There was a piece he was missing of this puzzle.

"What do you want to know? I cannot promise I will be of assistance, but I will try."

"A few days ago, there was an attack in a tea house nearby."

"The Elephant House, correct."

"Right. I'm sure it doesn't come as a great surprise to know that the attack came from…my people. I mean, not _mine_ personally, but, you know, wizards."

"They told us it was the IRA. Major came right out on the television and told us it was them," Tyler mumbled. But Nott's explanation certainly made more sense. How long had the government known about wizards? How deep did this thing go? Was every attack a lie?

"The what? Never mind. Look, do you know of anybody who witnessed the attack?"

"Yes. One of my recent patients was young boy injured in the chaos."

"What was his name?"

"Mr. Nott, it's not legal—let alone appropriate—for me to disclose information to you about my patients. I mean, look at you. You're practically a stranger. And as much as I would like to help…"

The boy jumped up from the sofa and pulled out a stick from the inside of his boot. _No, not a stick,_ Tyler realized, _a _wand. The boy was pointing a wand at him.

Nott's hand was shaking. "Tell me about the boy."

"I can't."

"I need to know."

The desperation in his eyes was nothing like Tyler had ever seen. Something was plaguing this boy, eating away at him. The doctor skimmed his mind, searching for some sort of cheat code. Some way to be of help. "This information. Does my daughter's life depend on it?"

"It very well might."

Tyler took a deep breath. He hoped that he wouldn't regret this later. "His name is Winston MacRoberts. Physically he is more or less in shape. His mind, though, is an entirely different story."

Theodore gave a terrifyingly snake-like grin.

"Take me to him."

* * *

**Mysterious Prophetess: I know! I know! I intend to go back and edit all of the chapters in this story sometime soon, because they bother me, too.**

**Cauchy: Thanks. Other than the library, though, there's not much of the place we will actually get to see.**

**The Sin of Justice: I do not usually take ideas, but I am not opposed to others, I doubt you are still reading this, but if you would like to PM me, I'd definitely take a look at your idea. I do have my own plot in mind, though, so keep in mind I may not use it if it does not fit into the direction that I intend to push this story.**

**Legendarily Quiet: Yes, Ed's overprotectiveness of his brother is one of the most prominent qualities that transferred over to the painting. In that sense the two of them are not so different.**

**Chrome Cheetah: Al knows the ingredients by this point, but his first reaction was mostly shock without full comprehension of the implications. It seems a bit out of character, but I honestly think that Painting!Ed is starting to drive him over the edge.**

**notabot: Thanks.**

**Silver_Luna_Moon: Thank you.**

**urs-v: That is true, but Amestris and Earth do not appear to share any other famous historical figures, so it probably strikes Alphonse as odd that this man shared a name and a goal with another individual from Amestris. Anyway, it's the only lead he has.**

**Kenzie Perth: Hurray for metaphysical chaos!**

**eha_1234: Thank you.**

**Monica Moss: It probably will, but Al will never admit that there is magic if he can help it, which does make it difficult to support his case.**

**Suicide Forest: Thanks.**

**Ambiguity in D Major: The FMAB plot is continuing as usual in Amestris. Edward is struggling to recover from being viciously impaled through the guts.**

**yo yo ma: That's a pretty good comparison, actually.**

**Sonnie: I don't think it's silly at all. I agree that Alphonse is an incredible character in his own right who deserves to be explored more for reasons other than his "cuteness." Your review was very kind. Now get some sleep.**

**Morghan._Made._Of._Kandi: Thank you. Sorry that I didn't exactly update "soon."**

**Harrys_woman: Ed's outbursts are the best.**

**http_kirby: All will be explained in due time.**

**Kyuubi_No_Puma: The smarts indeed. Their children would read encyclopedias for their third grade book reports.**

**Oblitus Angeli: Ah, yes. I, too, find the use of substantial vocabulary to be inordinately proficuous. I myself at times can be quite the sesquipedalian.**

**Ai_Jay: Thank you. Sorry for the wait.**

**Diabolic Esper Add: Thanks.**

**chrystal_jade_flower: Spot on observation. I fear for him, too.**

**Ruby Alchemist: Thank you.**

**Full_Mental_Panic: Yes, life is tough for Ed the Painting. And I'm glad that Fleur did something, too. I have trouble writing good female characters for some reason, which is strange because I myself am female. The roundhouse kick was a favorite moment of mine as well. **

**Synn Nexus: I'm glad to hear that. I struggled a lot with those because they were almost entirely action-based and my strong suit is dialogue. **

**Guitar Amateur: ...For now.**

**curli_gurl_0896: I don't think they would risk making another portrait even if it could potentially help clear the air because of how epically wrong the first one went. I did say that romance isn't my forte, but I do try to keep a least some romantic thoughts and undertones because, let's face it, they're teenagers.**


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